#i literally thought about this last night

[mostly-imagines]

🌻 anon here

The last few days I stumbled into a few posts about Jason having +18 pics of reader in his phone and I just can't stop thinking "would he tho??" Like would he trust enough his device to have r18 pictures of the one he love and literally worship in his phone??? Knowing he knows damn well how easy it is nowadays to get those types of pictures through hack and stuff??

And I'm not saying he would share the pics, HELL NO he would never. But because I don't think he would trust his phone -and also because it cracks me up- I imagine him having a Polaroid to take the pics. The photos get printed automatically and if he have to he can't literally burn those without having to overthink about someone hacking his phone.

Like can you imagine him just casually take a Polaroid you didn't know where there out his nightstand and taking a pics of you while you reaching your peak??

Anyways all of that just to ask what one of my fav Jason writers would think about the whole Jason having spicy pics of you in this phone

18+

i’ve honest to god been thinking about this non stop since you sent it sunny

i think you're dead on, jason's protective streak rings too loud in his mind to ever take the chance of someone else maybe seeing those photos of you. personally, i’m of the belief that he uses his phone for the most practical purposes only and that his photo gallery is borderline empty, with few exceptions of nondescript images. like the only pictures of you on his phone don’t show your face or any revealing information about you. yeah, he’s a little paranoid in that way but it just makes his alternative that much more interesting.

there’s also something about it that feels more personal, more intimate. there’s not a chance in hell those photos are going near another person and he likes the idea that you’re giving him this amount of vulnerability and trust.

i also think he is an avid supporter of your personal autonomy and feels better knowing that if you want a picture gone, all you have to do is burn it and it's gone forever. he doesn't really like the idea that so many things on electronics can be spread or seen without you even knowing, so he's perfectly fine to stash a few polaroids in unsuspecting places.

he’d be really hesitant to ask you the first time, he was worried he’d make you uncomfortable or that you’d think it was weird. the thought initially came about after he’d gone on an away mission that lasted twice as long as it was supposed to and he was bordering on losing it without a single image of you. that, and frankly, he was stressed and he has never experienced a stress relief quite like you.

so the night he comes back he’s kissing you hard and rubbing up against you, but all he can think about is how badly he wants to capture all your facial expressions and imagery he couldn’t stop imagining while he was gone.

he breaks away from your lips breathlessly, “can I take a picture of you?”

you give him a bemused look, “what? like, now?”

he fiddles with the waistband of your underwear, not making eye contact. “well…in a few minutes..”

his timorous disposition gives you a solid clue of what he means and you smile up at him. “yeah?”

he finally meets your eyes, looking hopeful. “is that alright?”

“of course,” you nod and he leans back down against you, lips meeting your pulse point. “what brought this on?”

he noses at your neck, “jus’ missed you. a lot.”

you nod, pulling back and running a finger down to the tip of his nose. “take as many as you want.”

and he did.

his favorite pics are the ones he takes right when you cum, lips slightly parted, brow pinched. he’s also fond of the moments right when you’re just starting to feel it.

the photos of you on your knees, trying to take him in your mouth as much as you can really do something to him. your eyes watering and you holding his hand for support. he has to pace himself when he looks at those, especially the ones where you’re looking up at the camera.

he doesn’t usually like to be in the pictures, other than his dick in/against you or his hand splayed across your stomach or neck. he also has one or two where you’re riding him and his free hand is on your hip guiding you.

you’d have to be having a particular kind of sex for it to even occur to him to stop and take pictures. it only really happens during the easy times, when you’re both just having fun more than anything. it’s then when he’s really able to take his time with you and savor things, which is why the majority of your polaroids are taken then. he’s also more likely to be in a teasing mood then and not in a particular rush to get you where you’re going. a lot of those pictures show you smiling and completely relaxed which is another reason why he tends to revere those moments.

a grade A way to make him feel better after a long week is leaving him some surprise polaroids in the stash, it makes him crazy. he’s honestly just really obsessed with the idea that you trust him so much with those kinds of photos that you’d go out of your way to take some for him when he’s not even there. i actually think that’s at least half of what turns him on so much about the whole thing, the trust that you place in him and only him to not only see you in those moments but also relive them afterwards. just pics of you in lingerie or even just one of his shirts—it’s over for him.

[hihhasotherfixations]

Can you make a Drabble of reader telling price she has a teen from a previous relationship and the teen doesn’t trust price with their mom.

Why of course UwU Hope it came out like you wanted!

CW: fem!reader, no further warnings

Word Count: 1825

Dating in his late thirties wasn’t a thing Price was used to. Nor was it something he ever expected to happen. But you? You turned his world upside down.

It had been a casual thing. Price and you, both a little unsure, seeing each other every other week. Sure, deployments sometimes got in the way, but it was consistent. It was nice.

But casual slowly started to change to something more. And now, you had invited him to your house. For dinner, and to come meet your son.

Price knew of your previous relationship and divorce, the two of you had spent several nights at dinner tables bashing the things your ex did - much to both of your enjoyment. So he knew about your son. He was fifteen now, right around that age where everything parents do are wrong and unjust.

But you had explained your son was not like that. He was kind, a complete mama’s boy. He was your rock and your life and everything Price heard about him made him gain an appreciation for the kid.

Surely if he was like that, meeting him wouldn’t be a problem, right?

Well, that was the attitude he’d went into this dinner with. And he was sorely regretting not preparing more thoroughly now.

He’d been called away on a mission last minute, getting back into the country literally an hour before he had to be at your house.

So now here he sat, hair still damp from his quick shower, clothes the fastest thing he could find - a crumpled dress-shirt stuffed into maroon pants - and an overall flustered look to him.

After all, he just flew across the continent twice within 38 hours.

He’d tried to be casual, tried to introduce himself well to the kid. You seemed to approve of everything he’d said. But judging from the scrutinising stare down he was currently getting, your son didn’t think the same.

“So… Do you know what you wanna study after high school?” Price asked, trying to keep the conversation afloat, but it’d felt like a sinking ship for the last twenty minutes.

In response, the boy just shrugged and Price hummed, rolling the pasta on his plate with his fork a bit, trying to think of anything to say.

“Lew.” You sighed at your son.

“What?” He huffed back, twirling the salt shaker on the table. “It’s a stupid question. I don’t know yet. Of course I don’t.”

At that, Price watched as you turned a little more stern, looking at the kid. “Then you can say that politely. Come now, John tried his very best to be here today.”

Glancing at you, Lewis scoffed, giving Price a brief glare that made the military captain tilt his head in both confusion and intrigue. After all, he did nothing wrong as far as he knew.

“Sorry to have brought uncertainty.” He decided to speak up, getting the teen’s attention. “It’s sometimes a bit dodgy with my line of work.”

What was supposed to be a lighthearted comment meant to shed light, instead caused Lewis to glare at Price, slamming his fork down “You gonna leave my mom behind too then?” He spat and you gasped.

“Young man, that’s quite enough!” You started but Price then held up his hand.

“I get it, Lewis.” The man sighed. “Trust me I do. It’s been something your mother and I have talked about a lot.” He started, clasping his hands together in front of himself, elbows on the table as he put his thoughts into words. “My work is… well, shifty.” He sighed. “I’m not a fan of it, but it is what it is. I can’t guarantee that I’ll always be around, that I won’t ever disappear with minimum notice.”

Lewis’ jaw clenched as he listened. But Price kept going, because the kid was fifteen, and he didn’t feel like sugarcoating it. He was smart and old enough.

“But I can guarantee this: I will always keep your mother - and if you wish, you - in the loop. I won’t just leave. I’m not that kind of man.”

Crossing his arms, Lewis leaned back in his chair. “What kind of man are you then? Military big shot?”

Chuckling a little at that, Price looked at the boy. “Tell me this, do you trust your mom?” He motioned to you at that and, confused, Lewis nodded.

“Of course, why?”

“Then trust her that she won’t date some pompous asshole who can’t see beyond his own rank.”

Pursing his lips, Lewis had nothing to say to that, grumpily looking down at his plate instead.

“Kid-“

“Don’t call me that!” He snapped and John shut up. Almost instinctively, his military commander side wanted to rear up, scold him for yelling at his senior, but he restrained himself, instead looking at the angry teen. “You can’t just barge in here, into mom’s life, and expect me to take it laying down!”

Hearing that, you leaned forward onto the table. “Lewis, we’ve talked about this. You agreed to this dinner, you cannot act like this!”

A frown was on your face, almost borderline angry - something John hadn’t ever seen before.

But Lewis didn’t budge, now looking at you. “I won’t stop, mom! It’s obvious, I mean look at him!” He angrily gestured to the brunet, making John’s brows furrow.

“What about him?”

“Don’t make me say it out loud!”

“Lewis.” Your voice was hard and concise.

“He’s not good enough for you!” Lewis then yelled, a silence immediately falling.

Hearing it, Price clenched his jaws, a tightness forming in his chest as he then looked over to you. You held a frown, looking at your son.

“Lew…”

“I’m not hungry.” Without another word, the boy shoved his plate away and got up, storming off.

Speechless, you went to open your mouth, to get up to chase after him, but Price stopped you by placing his hand over yours, his eyes calm, hiding the hurt as he just looked at you.

“Just let him go. Speaking from experience, it’s best to let him cool off and gather his thoughts.”

Conflicted, you looked at him. “I- I don’t get why he’s being like this…” You said softly and John squeezed your hand, a loaded sigh leaving him.

“It’s a big change for him. You can’t blame the boy.” He said, pulling his hand back as he glanced to where Lewis left. “Admittedly, I didn’t think it would go like this. But I also didn’t think he’d accept me into the dynamic instantly. Just don’t take his words to heart right now.” The captain spoke, turning his head back to face you as he then gave you a kind, little smile, the lines around his eyes crinkling gently.

Sighing, you nodded as you placed your head in your hands.

“Dinner’s great, by the way.”

At his sudden comment, you let out a startled little laugh that made John’s heart flutter.

- - - -

Sitting on your porch with a cigar, Price looked out at the night sky. After he stormed off, neither you nor him had seen any sign of Lewis. It truly did put a damper on the evening.

Smoke gently exited Price’s mouth before being picked up by the wind and blown away.

Behind him, the door then opened and he glanced back, his eyes widening a bit as he saw Lewis standing there, a sour expression on his face as he kept his eyes firmly to the ground.

“Hey.” He muttered and Price took the cigar out of his mouth.

“Hi.” He replied, analysing the teen. He didn’t seem entirely thrilled to be here, possibly sent out here by you. It made the captain want to scoff a chuckle. But he didn’t and instead patted the spot beside him where he sat on the stairs of the porch. “Wanna sit?”

“I don’t like-“

“I’ll put it out.” John shushed, holding the cigar away a little. It made Lewis look up, however.

“Aren’t those crazy expensive?”

Chuckling a little, Price crossed his ankle over his knee, pushing the cigar into the underside of his boot. “Yep. But that’s okay.”

Tentatively, Lewis walked over, sitting down besides the man.

“I have to… say sorry. For what I said.” He mumbled and John turned his head, a kinder look on his face, almost serene.

“By your mother?”

Pursing his lips, Lewis turned to look at Price, only to see an amused twinkle in the older man’s eye.

“Maybe.” He instead grumpily mumbled and John just huffed in amusement, turning to look forward as he leaned his elbows on his knees, absentmindedly starting to twirl the extinguished cigar in his hands.

“I get it, Lewis.” He started, his eyes focused on the night sky and his voice soft - almost as if he didn’t want to break the serenity of the night. “Your mom? She’s a wonderful woman. Kind, generous, sweet.” Looking down, Price then focused on his cigar. “You probably don’t want to hear this, but I really like her. And I think she likes me too. I hope so, at least.” With that, he turned his head to the teen.

Lewis was looking at him, a conflicted expression on his face.

“I don’t want to come in here to play family, kid. I’m not your dad and I won’t pretend to be.” He said and then glanced at the door. “I just want to give her what she deserves.” He nudged his head towards the house.

“What I said about you not being good enough…” Lewis mumbled and John sighed, now turning to face the teen.

“Don’t bother. Honestly, you may be right.” He hummed, leaning his head back into the porch railing. “I won’t say I’m a perfect man. Far from it. But what I said at the table is true. I will always try to do right by her. And you too - if you’ll let me.”

Contemplating, Lewis looked out from the porch.

“Why mom?” He said after a moment and Price looked at him.

“Because she’s the first one in a long time to give me a chance. Despite my job and what I’ve done.”

At that, the teen angled his head, taking the brunet beside him in. “Really? What have you done?” He asked, a hint of a smile on his face.

Seeing it, Price huffed a chuckle, pocketing the dud cigar. “That’s classified, I’m afraid.”

“Lame.” Lewis scoffed, but there was no animosity in it and Price smiled to himself.

“Tell you what.” He said, sitting upright and looking at the boy. “You give me a chance and I might tell you some stories.” He held out his hand.

Looking at it, Lewis seemed skeptical at first, glancing at the peace offering. But then he sighed and reached out, shaking hands.

“If you hurt my mom I will kick your ass.”

Laughing, John slapped the kid on the shoulder. “If I do, I’ll let you.”

[toniiswrld]

one of my many sick deranged ideas that i discussed with my dearest @tsandoll <3

cw. smut +18 mdni, fem!reader, not really any dom/sub dynamics neither of them are really dominant? yn a little bossy tho, oral (f. recieving)

wc. 1.6k (ki writing something under 2k? crazy...)

the last thing on earth that jaehyun would ever want is for you to be uncomfortable, especially because of him. throughout your relationship with him he's been super respectful, never letting his hands linger on you for too long, he tries to stop his eyes from wandering along your body, and he always stops your makeout sessions before they lead to anything more, just to make sure that you two weren't rushing into anything and that you didn't think he was pressuring you.

but one thing he couldn't stop were the thoughts he had about you in the night when he was in bed, all alone with his hand and the thought of you. he was ashamed of it, he was scared that one day you'd somehow find out that he jerked off to the thought of you almost every night and you would call him a sick freak and you'd break up with him. it all started with a wet dream, you were so beautiful taking every inch of his cock while he rutted into you eagerly, squeezing his hand the same way you do in real life that always tugs on his heart strings. he woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat and an ache between his thighs.

ever since then he'd been using his thoughts of you to get himself off at night. it was like torture keeping it from you, he felt like a pervert. smiling in your face as if he didn't cum all over his hands hours before at the mental image of the same face. there was no reason why he couldn't just tell you that he was ready to go all the way with you once you felt like you were ready as well, but he was embarrassed about how he felt.

he knew he couldn't keep in his dirty little secret from you any longer, it was eating him inside and he knew that the conversation could go two ways -- you think he's gross and you never want to see him again, or you think its cute and you comfort him before giving him the fuck of his life. so here he was, on his knees at the edge of your bed while you look down at him. he has tears in his eyes as he explains himself and apologizes, trying his best to gauge your reaction through his teary eyes.

"jaehyun, you're literally my boyfriend. did you think i'd really be mad that you're attracted to me? i'm more upset that you didn't tell me sooner, i could have helped you out." you lean forward and cup his cheeks, making him make eye contact with you while you assure him that everything was fine. he's not sure if you're able to tell, but your words go straight to his dick. he has to bite his lip to make sure this isn't another one of his dreams.

"y-you're not mad?" he whispers and you want to laugh at his sensitive state. but you hold it in and you smile at him, shaking your head so he knows that you really aren't mad at him.

"i'm flattered, actually. can you... can you show me what you do when you think about me?" you try your best to sound confident in your words but your voice shakes a little bit, a little too excited over jaehyuns little emotional moment. something about him on his knees in front of you on the edge of crying had you thinking about all the other things you could possibly make him cry for.

he's quick to nod at your words and take his clothes off. he takes off his shirt and jeans, he stays on his knees on the ground while he starts palming himself through his boxers. his eyes start to flutter shut and you watch in amusement as he gets himself worked up.

you can see the precum that leaks out of his cock and stains his boxers, you want to tell jaehyun to just take his cock out so you can see but you remember you told him to show you what he usually does. almost like he could read your mind, he pushes his boxers just enough for his cock to slip out, his hands instantly making contact with it and he bites back a moan. its so pretty, the perfect length and its thick, tip a pretty deep red with his precum making it glossy in his hand. you want to tell him to get on the bed so you can just suck him off but you hold out.

"tell me what you think about, baby" you were so hot to him like this, and he's whining and squeezing his cock tight trying to gather his thoughts as much as possible.

 he looks in your eyes and feels like he could cum right now.you just smile at him, face unreadable of any real emotions. you bring a hand back to his cheek, grazing the skin with your thumb as you watch him struggle to speak.

“i- fuck– i think about you…” you hum as encouragement for him to go on. with the eye contact you force him to make with you, it was hard for him to think. even if you were telling him to continue he felt embarrassed telling you about his fantasies. “think about your face, your body– love your body so much baby, i think about touching you, how good you’d feel squeezing me, i think about how you smell good, you always smell sso good” he leans forward and dips his head to rest on your leg, face still resting in your hand as he takes in a breath of the skin of your bare legs. you almost think he whimpers after sniffing you, and you want to laugh at him for his desperation, but he’s already felt vulnerable enough today. 

you shift so you can spread your legs open for jaehyun, your thighs sticking together from the heat of your room before you. his head falls between your legs when you do this and he’s face to face with the cloth barrier that hides your pussy from him. he can feel the heat that radiates from you in this spot, and he takes another deep breath to get that scent he’s so badly craved to take in. something about you having a long day and sitting in your worn in panties that were probably now soaked through turned jaehyun on to no end. and you were wearing shorts, they were probably so tight against you and got to rub against you all day. he had to admit he was a bit jealous that your clothes get to be on you at all times. he was definitely going to ask you for a pair of your panties when you two were finished.

“can i eat you out? wanna taste you so bad, please let me taste you baby” 

“go ahead”

jaehyuns orgasm was long forgotten the moment you gave him the green light. he quickly rid you of your top and your bottoms, leaving you in just your bra and panties as he trailed wet kisses up your thighs. he was so pretty like this, drunk on you without having a taste yet.you whine whenever he nibbles on the soft skin of your thighs, pushing your hips up a bit to urge him to hurry up. he got the memo quickly, looking up at you for approval as he got closer to wear you needed him the most. he pushed you further on the bed, that way you could lay down comfortably and jaehyun could ease the burn in his knees from being on the ground for too long. 

pushing your panties to the side, he dove straight into kissing and licking at your clit. you were embarrassingly wet, but you were too turned on to care. it was hard to focus when jaehyun ate you out like it was his last meal. your hands were in his hair as you tried to keep your moans down. you could see the way he was grinding onto your mattress, it made you clench around nothing thinking about how he was making you feel so good while chasing his own pleasure. you grind your hips into his face and he moans into your cunt, you feel it everywhere.

his fingers that were wrapped around your legs move to press against your entrance, he easily slips two fingers inside while he keeps his lips wrapped around your sensitive clit. the way his fingers press against your walls so nicely, and they’re so long, you know you won't be able to hold out much longer before your orgasm comes. 

“j-jaehyun, m’gonna cum-'' you weren't sure that your words were even coherent, but jaehyun heard you loud and clear. he moved his fingers faster inside of you, desperate to feel you cum around him. 

“yes, cum for me, wanna make you feel good”

soon after that you feel that wave of pleasure crash through you and you bite back a scream. the way the orgasm took over all of your senses was overwhelming, jaehyun having you nearly black out just from giving you head. the way your hips eagerly rode out your high on his face triggered his own orgasm, hips pressing deep onto your mattress as his cum pools on your sheets. when he feels your hand push at his head to get him off you he pulls his lips from your dripping cunt, resting his head on your thigh as you two catch your breaths. 

after some hours of cuddling, you two were back at it, trying out every little fantasy jaehyun had thought about in all of his wet dreams.

a/n: first bnd fic!! hope you guys enjoyed it ^_^

[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 25 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, depictions of smoking and excessive drinking, fluff, a whole lot of flirting, some angst. it’s the final chapter, friends!!!! and that’s a warning in itself lol

words: 23.7k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 25 ► can’t promise that things won’t be broken, but i swear that i will never leave, please stay forever with me

The flight to Paris the next morning began quietly, but as was often the case with Rated Riot, it quickly descended into chaos.

Despite Yoongi’s adamant claims that he was “perfectly fine,” he was too hungover to keep his eyes open for more than two seconds at a time. Hoseok, equally plagued by his own hangover, took it upon himself to guide his friend down the airplane aisle. The two of them moved slowly, holding onto seats and, occasionally, the backs of other passengers’ heads. They were, almost literally, the blind leading the blind.

When you stood up to ask where they were going five minutes after the seatbelt sign was turned off, Jungkook gently pulled you back to your seat.

“Leave them,” he said, adjusting his earbud that had almost fallen out when you stood up, pulling on the wire. “They’ll figure it out.”

A soft gasp was heard a few rows ahead when Hoseok accidentally grabbed a woman’s ponytail. Confused and disoriented, he turned to apologise to someone on the other side of the plane.

“I’m not sure they will,” you replied to Jungkook. “They’ll find the emergency exit and try to pry it open.”

“And don’t underestimate them,” he said. “They will succeed at that.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” You stood up again. “Give me one second.”

Jungkook grinned but did not try to stop you again.

Yoongi sighed in visible relief when you touched his shoulder. He quickly tried to explain the situation to you, making it sound like Hoseok had led him into a dark, haunted cave, instead of merely managing to guide him—in large, distracting circles—away from the bathrooms by mistake.

Back in his seat, Jungkook wondered about the rest of his friends on the plane. He didn’t know what the other members of his band had been up to after he’d returned to the hotel with you, but he could tell, just by watching Yoongi and Hoseok struggle, that everyone was fighting the after-effects of last night.

Minjun was asleep behind Jungkook, looking rather faded. Jude, meanwhile, had remained in London, where he was waiting for his flight home as he had originally planned.

Jungkook then looked over at Taehyung and Luna, who were seated just behind Minjun. They were pretending very diligently to be engrossed in the film playing on their screens—Jungkook had heard Taehyung cursing earlier as he tried to sync the film for them both—but they were dozing off, too.

Even though not everyone was aware of Sid’s arrest yesterday, it was evident that they all had still unknowingly celebrated the occasion.

“Alright,” you whispered as you returned to your seat after depositing Yoongi and Hoseok in the care of the flight attendants. “If you hear any screams, let me know so I can go back and check if they’re still alive.”

Jungkook gave you an amused look. “You think they’d be screaming if they were dead?”

“You never know with them.”

He chuckled and settled back into his seat now that you were next to him. He picked up a dangling earbud—you had developed a new fondness for wired ones after losing too many AirPods across Europe—and handed it to you, making sure that the one in his left ear was still in place.

You put the earbud back in and leaned back, allowing him to rest his head on your shoulder and resume the Sleep Token song you had been listening to.

“I’m really glad we’re finally on this plane,” he whispered. You turned your head just slightly to hear him better, your chin brushing over his hair, and he was tempted to start speaking in tongues just to feel you even closer in your confusion.

“I know,” you replied. “There were moments when I thought we’d never leave London.”

You felt his head move against your shoulder in agreement.

“Great venue,” he remarked. “But fuck if I didn’t want to get out of there and head straight to Paris.”

You snickered. “You think we’re romanticising Paris just because we won’t have to deal with Sid there anymore?”

“Absolutely,” he replied. He felt uneasy, all of a sudden, as he ran his hand over his thigh, trying not to focus on the unpleasant feeling that Sid's name alone evoked. “I-I’m glad it’s Paris, though. I was ready to pack up to go to the Arctic to get away from him.”

“Oh, penguins,” you said, a playful smile on your lips. “Sounds nice.”

A flight attendant rushed past you in the aisle, on her way to attend to some urgent matter, and even Jungkook raised his head when you began to look around to check if the band members were all in their seats. Yoongi and Hoseok had just returned, bumping into each other and the surrounding seats as they walked back.

“Yeah,” Jungkook said, drawing your attention back to him, as he looked out the window, counting, as it seemed, the patches of clouds. “But I didn’t pack a lot of appropriate clothing.”

“Hmm,” you mused, “and I reckon you’d get bored pretty quickly in the Arctic.”

He shifted his gaze from the endless expanse of clouds to give you a very serious look. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” you replied, grinning at the genuine concern in his eyes. “Penguins probably don’t appreciate alternative music as much as you do.”

He observed you for a moment, his own lips stretching into a smile as his eyes briefly flickered to your mouth. The song in your earbuds switched to Friday Pilots Club’s newest single.

“Well,” Jungkook said, just a tad hypnotised by your tongue running over your lower lip, “I’m sure I could change their minds.”

“Oh, most definitely,” you said, having no doubts at all that if Jungkook set his mind to it—if he viewed it as a challenge—he could convince penguins to fly, too.

He appeared very pleased with himself for a moment, and his satisfaction only increased when he returned his head to your shoulder, and you leaned your head against his.

“You’d have to come with me,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow but did not pull back. “To the—to the Arctic?”

“Mhmm,” he affirmed. “It’d be just us two and a bunch of penguins. Fucking rocks, come to think of it. Maybe we should go there straight after Paris.”

You tried to stifle your laughter to avoid disturbing the drowsy plane.

“Or how about we go somewhere warmer?” you suggested. “We’re finished with Sid anyway. Let’s leave the penguins alone.”

Jungkook felt his muscles tense once again. He still felt the weight of Sid’s name on his chest every time it came up, despite having “finished” with him.

To be fair, he didn’t expect this heaviness to disappear soon, but he figured he could learn to live with it. Carrying this weight felt like a reminder of everything he’d survived—of the chains he’d broken, if he wanted to be dramatic about it.

“That’s cool, too,” he said. “I like those cuddly ones—what are they called?—those little ones, with sand-coloured fur, love the sun. Sort of a tiny, pointy face—”

“Meerkats?” you offered.

“Yes!” He snapped his fingers, enthusiastic. “Let’s go where they are. They were cool when we saw them at that new zoo near my house, remember?”

You remembered, of course, even though that had been four or five years ago. You couldn’t recall the dates very well, but you always remembered the moments.

“Oh,” you said, “when a lemur followed you around the room the whole time we were there?”

Jungkook pursed his lips. He remembered the lemur, too; he’d felt a little unsettled around it. Not scared, though. He was never scared of living creatures.

“Hmm,” he nodded, grumbling the next word, “right.”

“You can’t go anywhere without an animal falling in love with you,” you teased. “It’s a bit annoying, actually.”

You placed your hand on his and Jungkook turned his palm over, lacing his fingers with yours.

“Why?” he asked smugly. “Do you feel threatened?”

“Should I?”

“No. What I had with that lemur wasn’t serious. It—”

He had to pause because you laughed, and the pride that suddenly swelled in his chest distracted him from his next words. He rarely made jokes these days unless you were in the room to hear them.

“It had crazy eyes,” he continued after a moment, “kind of like Sid does when he’s been sober for a few days in a row. Freaked me out.”

“Ah,” you said, nodding in amusement. “That explains why it followed you. Could be Sid’s distant relative.”

He snorted. “We’ve gone from rodents to lemurs. I don’t know if that’s an improve—”

“No,” you cut him off, no longer joking. Jungkook raised his head to look at you, surprised by the sudden change in your tone. “Sid’s a rat. He wishes he was something more.”

He lowered his gaze, his own expression growing serious for a moment.

“Yeah,” he said. “Actually, maybe we should have called animal control on him instead of the police.”

The idea brought a wry smile to your face. “He did seem feral the last time we saw him.”

“Hmm. I’m sad that I missed it all.”

“You—no,” you countered again. “You haven’t missed anything. It’s a good thing you weren’t there. Sid didn’t deserve to see you one last time.”

Jungkook knew that. But he still wished he could have seen the look on Sid’s face when he was dragged—kicking and screaming, according to what you’ve told him—into the back of the police car.

“Well, if your plan works as expected,” he said, “I’ll never see him again.”

You noted the hopeful tone in his voice and remembered, suddenly, your conversation in Stockholm, when you had advised Jungkook to find better friends, and he had seemed very remorseful in turn. Back then, he had clung to his friendship with Sid almost desperately, even though the two of them only had their shared history and nothing else in common.

Jungkook had buried it all now—he buried it the moment he realised that there had always been one name standing between him and you, and that name did not belong to either of you—and it still felt strange, but it also felt promising.

“I fucking hope not,” you said. “I hope he gets a fun cellmate and rots in a prison far, far away.”

His smile finally returned. He had been thinking a lot about what Sid would go through once he was arrested.

“I bet he’ll be paired up with someone fantastic,” he said. “When Minjun and I were arrested, we were put in separate cells, and I ended up with this guy—do you remember? He called me ‘sweetheart’, which was very nice. Until I mentioned that we weren’t allowed to smoke here, and he tried to gouge my eyes out. So, the honeymoon phase didn’t last.”

It was remarkable how quickly you laughed. There was a time, not that long ago, when you couldn’t find anything amusing about Jungkook’s arrest at all. You’d been convinced of his guilt and closed your eyes to everything that could have shown even a glimpse of his innocence.

You realised now that you might have just been waiting for Jungkook to do something—a final something—so you could give in to the fear that had been whispering in your ear about the impermanence of relationships since your first date.

I knew it, you had thought to yourself as you headed to that police station. Of course, this would happen. Of course, we’d break up eventually.

Nothing was meant to last forever, that much was true. But now you had come to believe that some people spent their whole lives building their relationship—brick by brick—never growing weary of this never-ending project. You were looking forward to becoming one of those people.

“I remember,” you said, your voice softened by the shift in your memories. “He told me to watch my back when I picked you up. I still don’t know what that was supposed to mean.”

“Maybe he thought I was a proper criminal,” Jungkook suggested.

You scoffed, earning his disapproving glare.

Despite his menacing frame, tattoos, piercings and deliberately provocative clothes, there was nothing truly threatening about Jungkook. He could hold his own in a fight—he was very proud of that—but he had the personality of a gently melted marshmallow. Someone would call his name and his whole face would light up. Someone would make a joke, and he would clap his hands and lean forward as he laughed, even toppling over sometimes—and then he’d do a somersault before landing on his feet.

He was only dangerous if you loved him as much as you did—to the point where it hurt sometimes, but never enough to truly leave.

“You got arrested because Sid set you up,” you said, responding to the scowl on his face with a warm smile. “Not quite as impressive as whatever your cellmate was in there for, I’m assuming.”

Jungkook shrugged, not arguing. “Yeah, it was his fourth time in that cell, he said.”

“Oh, that’s—”

“That week.”

“—fun.” You cleared your throat. “Four times in one week? Why did they keep releasing him?”

“It’s usually small misdemeanours,” he explained. “Urinating on some embassy building, drinking in a public park. That sort of stuff.”

“And,” you said, “he told you about all that while trying to poke your eyes out?”

“Yeah,” he said, chuckling. "It was very Joker.”

You snorted. “Well, this guy sounds like someone Sid would get on well with.”

“Mhmm,” Jungkook agreed. “I think so, too.”

You turned your gaze to the window on his side. There was something very exciting about the possibility of Sid finally experiencing the kind of harassment he had dished out to others. Revenge wasn’t always the answer, but here it fit.

Just like yours, Jungkook’s desire for vengeance burned fiercely beneath the surface, too. It was too strong, however—and too unrealistic, he knew—to fully quench. He knew Sid might not get the justice he deserved in the end, and he couldn’t help but feel a little dispirited.

“It just sucks,” he said, after fighting himself on it for a minute, “that Sid might find a way to make this situation more comfortable for himself.”

You thought about it, but refused to find anything negative in Sid’s current predicament.

“That’s fine, though,” you said. “It’s really bad for him this time. No amount of luxury he can attain in this position will be enough. His reputation means nothing here, but he fucked it up anyway.”

“So, he’ll be even angrier,” Jungkook observed, still not satisfied.

You shrugged. “Good.”

“And he’ll do everything to retaliate.”

“Well,” you remained unperturbed, “we already know that, right?”

“He—”

“Actually,” Minjun popped his head into the gap between your seats, startling you both. Your heavy gasps forced him to pull back a little. “Sorry. I was—I overheard your conversation. I spoke to my dad this morning; he heard that Sid had been arrested. It’s bad. For Sid’s family, I mean. My dad’s taken a day off today, but Sid’s mother is calling an emergency meeting with their shareholders because, obviously, their image has been tarnished. Everyone’s talking. They’re not pleased.”

Jungkook glanced at you. Your raised eyebrows seemed to reflect the excitement he felt rising within him.

“Oh,” Jungkook said slowly, not wanting to get ahead of himself. Sid had a knack—in the form of several black cards—for wriggling out of the deepest holes he’d dug himself into. “That sounds promising.”

“Yeah,” Minjun said. “My dad thinks that Sid’s mum will have to make a choice. It’s very dramatic, but so fucking funny. You know how Sid’s family is very—well, traditional, right? Sid’s mother is the only daughter, she has four older brothers. Her father doesn’t care much about her. Or about her kid.”

Both you and Jungkook remembered Sid’s grandfather. Although you never met him, you heard stories from when Jungkook and Sid worked on restoring cars from his Chevrolet collection. He was a lenient man, accepting of most things, as long as Sid did not step out of line.

“So, if Sid’s mum doesn’t get Sid out of this situation herself,” Minjun continued, “then no one else will. And if she can’t handle it discreetly—and it doesn’t look like she can, it’s already too late—then her father will likely advise her to distance herself from Sid in order to protect the company’s reputation. So, she’ll have to choose between her son, whom she loves so dearly, and the company that she’s worked so hard to build. Kind of poetic, I think.”

You didn’t realise how wide you were grinning until you tried to speak and felt just how far your cheeks had stretched.

“I appreciate what that implies for Sid in both scenarios,” you said, coughing a few times into your fist to compose yourself.

Minjun was less constrained in his glee. “Right? We’re done here. Sid has much bigger things to worry about than plotting revenge.”

Jungkook kissed his index finger and pointed it to the sky, gazing up. “Merry fucking Christmas to us.”

You laughed as the two boys high-fived over your head. Minjun pulled back then, sliding his headphones back on, and Jungkook turned to you again. He was finally able to inhale something that felt like real oxygen instead of the stale air he’d been breathing before.

“So,” he said, pressing his shoulder against yours as your arms rested on the armrest between you. “Meerkats, then?”

You nodded, an eager smile on your lips. “And penguins later.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning back to get a better look at you. “You changed your mind?”

You shrugged. The two of you hadn’t paid any attention to the past three songs playing on the pair of earphones you were sharing.

“I’ll go anywhere you go,” you said—with an ease that made Minjun groan behind you with such a deep dedication to his displeasure that you felt your chair vibrate from the sound.

Jungkook was positively beaming, his eyes shining with all the colours that existed in the world, some of which were yet to be discovered.

“Well,” you said, your expression almost turning bashful, and Jungkook’s whole face seemed to start sparkling, “I think I just made Minjun’s soul leave his body for a second.”

“I know,” Jungkook said. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than I do right now.”

“Oh—” your words dissolved into laughter. “I mean, I knew you were into praise, but not to such an extent.”

“Oh, to such an extent,” he boasted. “Tell me how good I am, and how you’ll never leave me, and you’ll really never get rid of me.”

The affection in your eyes turned a mischievous shade. “I already can’t get rid of you.”

His proud expression did not falter one bit. “It’s because I can sense how much you need me.”

“Ah,” you snickered again, “is that so?”

“Yes.” He reached for your hand again, intertwining your fingers. “Really, I’m being very charitable here.”

Your eyes were locked on the smirk on his lips. “Public service, now, is it?”

“Mhmm,” he said. “Paying off my sins by doing a good deed.”

“I see,” you played along. “Trying to get into heaven after you die?”

He placed your hands on his lap, his thumb caressing yours. “Actually, I’m already there.”

Minjun smacked the back of Jungkook’s seat with enough force to dislodge your earbud from your ear.

“Please go back to talking about meerkats,” he asked from behind you, his tone pleading.

Jungkook laughed, and his unapologetic expression made you smile, too. You finally broke and leaned in to press your lips to his cheek, melting, very successfully, all that was still left of his heart.

“I love you,” you whispered with a look in your eyes that he would have gone to war for.

He squeezed your hand and leaned into you, his cheek grazing yours before he connected your lips, whispering into the kiss, “I love you.”

Your hotel in Paris was an intriguing combination of marble floors with opulent chandeliers in the lobby, and peeling wallpaper with questionable stains marking the walls in the corridors outside of your rooms.

The lift was not working—you’ve already grown used to this in London—so you had to haul your luggage up the creaking stairs. Somewhere around the second floor, Jungkook decided to take a break. He sat down on his dark grey, metallic suitcase, and accidentally rolled down at least five steps before grabbing the railing to stop himself from returning to the lobby on his ass.

The commotion caught the attention of a few porters—who seemed in no hurry to assist you with your luggage—and they informed you, very ominously, that several rock bands before yours had been kicked out of the hotel for “disorderly behaviour.”

Everyone in Rated Riot understood the warning, but you were concerned about the expressions on the members’ faces. There was a certain allure to these threats. Jungkook, in particular, seemed thrilled to see how much he could get away with without getting kicked out.

Fortunately, your first night at the hotel was as quiet as it could be, considering that silence was a relative concept for Rated Riot. Taehyung and Luna had accidentally torn the curtains in their room while “getting ready to sleep,” and Hoseok managed to lose a shoe outside his window, but the hotel staff remained blissfully oblivious about it all. You decided not to ask questions, either.

However, when you woke up the following morning, you almost regretted not giving the members an educational speech about good behaviour in any case, because Jungkook wasn’t in the room with you.

He had never woken up before you in all the years you’ve known him—regardless of how late your last night had been—so you were understandably alarmed. Surely, you thought, he was up to something with the rest of the band.

But then, as you pushed the covers off, the door of your room suddenly opened, and Jungkook walked in, alive and seemingly unharmed. He was surprised to find you staring at him, but his face lit up with a grin as soon as the early morning sunlight from the window behind you caught his silver necklace, momentarily blinding you.

“Hi,” he said. “You’re finally awake.”

You were at an unfortunate loss for words for at least half a minute. It was eight in the morning, and Jungkook had never used the words ‘finally’ and ‘awake’ in the same sentence unless he was referring to himself.

“I finally am,” you replied, your voice hoarse. His smile grew wider as he made his way back to the bed. “Sorry I’ve kept you waiting.”

“Oh, it’s alright,” he replied easily, plopping down beside you. “Should we grab breakfast before your meeting? Or would you prefer after?”

This relaxed demeanour was a characteristic trademark for Jungkook—although it usually concealed much deeper anxiety—but it felt surreal to encounter it so early in the day.

“Where—why are you up?” you finally asked, rubbing your eyes in a futile attempt to force them to stay open.

He shrugged. “Just excited for the day, I guess.”

You noticed a flicker in his gaze as if your question had intimidated him, and you could tell there was something else going on. But he looked genuinely ready for the day, and you didn’t want to risk stirring any tension that you’d been expecting to find this morning but hadn’t.

“Alright,” you said. “Maybe let’s eat after. Do you want to just stay here for a minute?”

Jungkook wanted to stay here for much longer than a minute, and he scooted back to his spot on the right side of the bed. You leaned back into the pillows, closer to him, and he pulled you into his chest, pressing his cheek against yours before turning his head to place a quick kiss on your lips.

It was a grounding kiss—to make sure you were really in this bed with him—but you still felt your anxious thoughts stop, place their hands in their laps obediently, and settle down in his presence—powerless, it seemed, when Jungkook was in the room with you.

It hadn’t really occurred to you how worried you were about your upcoming meeting—the empty room had worked as a sufficient distraction—until Jungkook’s quiet breaths, muffled by your lips pressed to his, took your mind off everything.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, startling you into pulling away. Jungkook sighed, having expected the interruption. He was already getting used to never having you all to himself for too long.

You gave him an apologetic smile and leaned over the bed to check your phone—on the screen was a preview of an email you had been waiting for all week.

“What is it?” he asked, noticing your expression.

“I’ll tell the whole band later,” you said—and elaborated before he could insist on being told first, “but I’ve found a new band to open for you guys for the rest of the tour. They just confirmed they’re available and interested. I don’t know if this is the last thing I’m doing as your manager, but if it is, then I’m quite happy with that. I obviously haven’t signed them yet—they’ve only agreed to discuss the details. But I watched all their performance videos tonight; they’re great.”

Jungkook looked—and very much felt—deflated all of a sudden. “Don’t say that.”

You gave him a puzzled look. “No, really, Maggie said she listens to them, and she—”

“Not that,” he cut in. “The other thing.”

He meant you leaving Rated Riot, of course. But after tossing and turning half the night, you had mostly come to terms with what your life would look like if the label decided to revoke your promotion and terminate your position as Rated Riot’s manager once they learned about your relationship with Jungkook. That would make your meeting twice as unpleasant, of course, but you’d figure it out.

You’d fight to stay, but you’d leave if you had no other choice. You’d find something else to do. And if nothing else worked, Nick’s offer with Reconnaissance was still open—you planned to call him today either way.

“It’s okay,” you said. “We’ll see what happens today.”

Jungkook mumbled something unintelligible under his breath.

“Also,” he said then, louder, “what do you mean you watched their performances tonight? Where was I?”

“Asleep.”

He frowned, his expression nearing offence. “And you weren’t? And you didn’t wake me?”

He quickly deduced that you hadn’t slept because you were too nervous. He should have known you would be, and he mentally scolded himself for not realising that sooner. He supposed he missed falling asleep next to you too much to worry about anything else.

“You can hardly say anything when you haven’t told me where you were just now,” you pointed out.

He changed his mind about complaining that you hadn’t woken him.

“I—wait, w-who is this band, then?” he asked instead.

You glanced at your phone after it lit up with another notification—this one from your calendar, reminding you, pointlessly, that you had a meeting in an hour.

“Nyx and the Insomniacs,” you replied, swiping the notification away. “You heard of them?”

Jungkook needed a moment to place the name.

“Yeah,” he said uncertainly, recalling the band but not why they sounded familiar. “I-I think Yoongi knows someone there?”

It wasn’t surprising, considering Yoongi seemed to know someone in every band.

Before you could respond, however, Jungkook added a very determined, “and it’s not going to be the last thing you do as our manager.”

“I hope not,” you said. Not wanting to linger on the topic and lose the few moments you had together before your meeting, you lied back down on the bed and turned to your side to face him. “Now tell me why you were awake so early. I mean, really.”

He sighed—sadly, somehow—at your question. He’d promised the rest of the band he wouldn’t tell you anything just yet. You’d find out where he was soon enough anyway.

“No good reason,” he said, carefully tiptoeing around the truth to avoid a deeper conversation about this. “Nervous, I guess. You and I slept in shifts, apparently.”

“Apparently.”

“Why do you keep asking?” he asked, leaning in closer to nestle his face into the crook of your neck. “Did you want to wake up with me that much?”

“Hmm, I’m conflicted about that,” you said, feeling a rapid wave of shivers run down your spine when his lips touched your neck in a tender, almost imaginary kiss. “Y-you suffocate me in your sleep, so it was nice to breathe for an hour or two.”

His laughter was muffled as he kissed your neck again, moving down to your collarbones and holding you tighter when he felt you squirm in his arms at the feeling.

“Breathing is overrated anyway,” he said.

“Yeah, so I’ve heard.”

You turned your head, and he looked up, smirking first—always—and leaning in to kiss you second. He held your lower lip locked between his, believing—very firmly—that if your head wasn’t spinning after he pulled away, he hadn’t truly kissed you. But as he ran his tongue over your parted lips, his stomach clenching in anticipation of your familiar taste, he heard your phone vibrate once again.

Groaning gibberish curses, he rolled away so you could pick up the device, your expression a mix of amusement and guilt.

“It’s the last time something interrupts us, I promise,” you assured, swiping away another notification as soon as you looked at it. You had decided to only respond to urgent emails this morning to avoid overheating your brain and to prevent Jungkook from scolding you about working too much again. “But I have to—I need to start getting ready.”

He suppressed all further complaints he had prepared to delay you from leaving the bed and forced himself to nod.

“I understand,” he said. “Send me the link to your playlist.”

You had already shifted to the edge of the bed and had to turn back to look at him over your shoulder. “Hmm?”

“I’ll listen to it while I wait for your meeting to finish.”

You turned away again, mumbling an exasperated, “God.”

“Come on,” he urged, crossing his ankles as he watched you from his side of the bed. “I’m awake and bored. Who knows what sort of tomfoolery I might get up to if you leave me unattended.”

“I knew I should have enrolled you in kindergarten.”

He snickered, sitting up suddenly. The more you resisted showing him the playlist, the more he wanted to hear it, and he could not stay still.

Thumping his palms on the mattress with every word, he chanted: “Give—me—the—link—to—”

“Fine, fine,” you relented—he made sure to leave you no other option as his volume grew—and stood up from the bed to unlock your phone. “But don’t open it until I’m out of the room.”

“I won’t,” he said, bouncing on his knees. He looked about ready to roll over and play dead, too, as long as you showed him the playlist.

You glanced at him, avoiding eye contact with the green Spotify circle.

“Promise me,” you said—more to delay what had become inevitable than for any other reason.

He tilted his head, his intrigued smile now bordering on absurd. “Is it that bad?”

“We will never speak of it once you listen.”

“Alright, shit.” He sat down, crossing his legs under himself even though he knew he wouldn’t stay in this position very long. He felt like a Christmas ornament—outrageously jittery and tingly. “I promise. Send it to me.”

“Alright.” You scrolled through your library, digging your teeth into your lip. You felt like you were eighteen again, starting this playlist after Jungkook had taken up residence in your mind without having said one word to you. You had never thought you’d show all these songs to him one day. “Let me find it first. Imagine if it’s gone.”

He sneered. “Imagine if I wouldn’t believe you.”

You glared at him over the top of your phone. He maintained his grin with slightly pursed lips, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

“It’s here,” you said, clicking on the playlist, but deliberately not looking down at the songs.

“Is the title just a row of pink hearts?” he asked and received another glare in response.

He chuckled. He could tell that you were on the verge of bolting for the door in hopes that he wouldn’t chase after you. He absolutely would.

“No,” you said. “It’s actually ‘why?’ in all caps.”

He cleared his throat, looking away. “I don’t get it.”

You finally grinned.

Jungkook already had another question at the tip of his tongue—one that would undoubtedly result in you tackling him—but his phone buzzed with a text notification from you. Glancing down, he grinned. He’d named your contact “LOML <3” a few days ago to annoy Minjun, and now he smiled every time he saw it.

“Got it,” he said, noting the Spotify link in the preview of the message. “Can I open it now, just to check if you sent me the right—?”

“Absolutely not,” you retorted. “I know I sent you the right link. Don’t click on it until I’m out of here.”

Biting back his amusement, he locked his phone and demonstratively pushed it away from himself on the bed.

“Okay, here,” he said, extending his hands to demonstrate the distance between himself and the device. “I’ll entertain myself by watching you put on make-up, then. That works, too.”

You didn’t object—in fact, he saw a smile flash briefly on your features—and he climbed off the bed, following you to the small bathroom.

It was not a pleasant room: two out of three lightbulbs in the fixture on the ceiling weren’t working, so the perpetually foggy mirror on the wall was useless. Most of the wall tiles were cracked, and the bathtub was an odd shade of yellow. But Jungkook wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as he watched you rummage through your cosmetics bag for your toothbrush, and you did not notice any of the flies or the cobwebs by the bathroom window. You did not notice how long you had to wait for the water to turn warm.

At one point, he sniffed your eyeshadow palette—for no reason whatsoever—and began to sneeze so violently and uncontrollably that you had to sit down on the edge of the tub to control your laughter, forgetting all about the awful bathroom and the daunting meeting with the Jett Records’ legal team.

However disruptive he was, Jungkook distracted you from everything that might have brought you down, and you were very grateful to have him here with you.

Sadly, your carefree morning didn’t last long.

Now that Jungkook was no longer with you, you paced outside the conference room on the ground floor of the hotel, obsessively checking your phone. Despite only getting a few hours of sleep tonight, you felt perfectly alert—the stress was great at keeping you sharp—and you noticed the Jett Records representatives as soon as they climbed down from their rooms.

An executive producer, Salma, whom the band had worked with before, showed up in place of CJ’s assistant. She’d left a good impression on you when you first met her, but now she was accompanied by two intimidating lawyers.

The one who introduced himself first—making a joke out of his lengthy full name and asking you to simply call him Reggie—had kinder eyes than the one who talked to you next. He was Duke, and he looked like he ate bricks for breakfast and knit spider webs as a hobby.

Fortunately, Reggie was the one who took the lead in the conversation, promising a quick—“five minutes tops, really”—introduction to the changes in your new contract.

Unfortunately, he ended up keeping everyone in the conference room for over half an hour. The lack of air conditioning in the old hotel, combined with the four of you in the confined space, made the room stifling. You felt yourself beginning to sweat.

“Do you have anything you’d like to ask, or can we move on to some routine questions before we sign the contract?” Reggie asked, pulling out a white handkerchief to wipe his forehead.

“No questions right now,” you replied, restlessly tapping your knee with your left hand under the table.

“Perfect,” Reggie said. “Could we open the window maybe? Would you mind?”

“Oh, actually, I’d prefer it,” you said, and the lawyer let out a sigh of relief. He glanced at Salma, who was sitting closest to the window, and she got up to open it.

It took the producer a minute to figure out the wooden window frame, but once she managed to pull the latch, a gust of eager wind finally blew into the room. The rustling leaves outside and the distant hum of Parisian traffic provided a melodious backdrop, but not even that could ease the knot of tension in your stomach. You felt like you were in the waiting room of a dentist’s office.

“Alright,” Reggie said, setting the papers he had been reading aside and grabbing another stack from the table.

You felt a new wave of heat wash over you, dreading another half hour of monotonous reading, but Reggie blissfully turned to the last few pages.

“We know about your previous job experience,” he said. “But do you have any other sources of income that we should know about?”

“No,” you replied, keeping your responses concise as you flipped through your own copy of the contract to find the page Reggie was on.

He scribbled something down with his engraved Montblanc pen. Duke looked bored next to him as he lazily chewed something—dead bugs, you assumed. Salma, in the meantime, was completely absorbed in her phone.

“Possible conflicts of interest?” Reggie asked, pulling your attention away from the other people in the room.

You took a deep breath. “Yes.”

Reggie turned his pen and asked, without looking up from his papers, “go on.”

“I am in a relationship with the lead vocalist of Rated Riot.”

Gripping the arms of your chair, you held your breath, anticipating raised eyebrows, disapproving glances, and, eventually, a termination of your employment.

But neither Salma nor Duke turned to look at you. Reggie was silent for a moment as he scanned the documents in front of him. You imagined he was searching for a clause outlining the consequences of this particular offence. Your nerves prevented you from checking your own copy.

“That’s already here,” Reggie finally said.

“It’s—hmm?” You straightened in your seat. “Sorry?”

“It already says so here,” Reggie repeated, pointing to a section on his paper and sliding it towards you. “Anything else that we should add?”

You looked down at the text he had indicated. It read, “Private interest of Employee: undisclosed consensual personal relationship without a direct hierarchical link.”

You did not understand what that meant. Skimming the whole paragraph, you caught sight of Jungkook’s name—but Yoongi, Hoseok, and Taehyung were mentioned, too, just a few lines below.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammered, your hands trembling as you held Reggie’s paper to prevent it from blowing away in the gentle breeze. “The label—it says here that I am in a relationship?”

You felt incredibly foolish to ask for a translation of the words that were written in a language you, technically, spoke, but you couldn’t not ask, either.

“Well, yes,” Reggie confirmed, looking a bit perplexed by your reaction.

“A-and they—how did they—”

Duke was the one who responded to your stuttering.

“HR conducts a background search before they hire someone,” he said as if this was the part you struggled to understand. “This information was included in your contract when you started to work with Jett Records. Didn’t CJ go through this with you?”

He sounded absurdly pleased with himself when he spoke, not even realising how little sense he made. When you joined Jett Records, Rated Riot weren’t signed yet; the band had barely been formed. Your relationship held no relevance to the label. And your position certainly wasn’t important enough to warrant a thorough consultation with the CEO.

“No, he didn’t,” you said, reflexively matching your voice to his condescending tone. “Are you sure this was included in my initial contract? Because Rated Riot weren’t even signed with us when I came to Jett Records.”

Finally, Duke removed his elbows from the table, looking slightly uncomfortable. He seemed to have realised that he had misspoken, and now he’d have to tell you something he wasn’t supposed to.

“It’s, uh—” Duke started to say, then glanced over at Reggie. Reggie glared at him, not willing to help, so Duke tried again. “It—what HR does is more exhaustive than just double-checking everything on your application. They can—if they come across certain information at any point of your employment, and they think it could be, uh, relevant, they inform CJ about it. It appears that he—they probably updated your employee file before you began to work with Rated Riot, that’s why it’s on the contract.”

You kept tucking the strands of your hair behind your ears—a nervous habit that you were too overwhelmed to control.

CJ knew, then. He had an “employee file” about you, and he knew you’d dated Jungkook before he hired you for Rated Riot. You could not understand if he simply didn’t care about your relationship or if said relationship was exactly the reason why he hired you.

“And,” you said, “is there anything else that HR has included in my file?”

This made Duke pull even further back from the table. Reggie sighed. It appeared that they both knew that this—your lack of awareness about how much HR pried into your personal life without your knowledge—could pose a serious problem for the label.

“Well,” Reggie said, skimming over the pages in front of him again, “there’s nothing that could be considered a real conflict of interest.”

“So, we don’t have any problems, then?” you asked, your tone sharper than you’d intended. “Legally?”

The two men across the table from you exchanged a glance.

“Not about the, uh, relationship,” Reggie said, speaking slowly to avoid any further confusion. “Our contracts only prohibit employer-employee relationships. And your direct employer is Christian Jett, not Rated Riot. So, no, in your case, there are no legal issues. And, if anything, from a strictly business perspective, employee relationships, especially those within the band, could be—well, almost profitable, really.”

You continued to watch him, your gaze fading out of focus, and Reggie looked back down at the papers in front of him, very uneasy again. He’d thought he was easing your worries about your relationship being public knowledge, he didn’t expect to make this even worse for you.

Profitable, then. From a strictly business perspective, CJ could have found your relationship profitable, so he hired you for Rated Riot.

You came into this meeting thinking Jungkook was your biggest risk. Instead, your relationship with him was profitable.

You felt too dazed to move.

Duke, meanwhile, observed you with a newfound fascination and a slightly raised brow.

“You, uh,” he cleared his throat, “you weren’t aware of this, then? That your relationship with anyone in the band wouldn’t be a—”

“No,” you replied. “I thought I’d need to formally declare it. I didn’t know it was already in my file.”

You didn’t know there was a file at all, actually—because employees weren’t supposed to know.

And now you wondered what else HR has deemed relevant for everyone at the company to know about you. Nick’s call to you about a job opening with Reconnaissance must have made it to the file, too.

“Hmm.” Duke nodded to himself, then turned to his colleague. “Well that finally explains the email, doesn’t it, Reg?”

Reggie clenched his jaw but did not look up from his papers and did not respond. He did not think this was an appropriate discussion to have right now.

“W-what email?” you asked, almost apprehensive.

Duke turned back to you, studying your expression for a moment. He was trying to determine if your confusion was genuine. To his surprise, it appeared to be. And here he assumed you were the one who had orchestrated this.

“This morning, Min Yoongi sent an email to Jett Records on behalf of the band,” Duke said. “It’s quite late over there, but CJ’s assistant saw it and forwarded it to us.”

Duke went on to explain that it was a scanned copy of a formal letter. The members of Rated Riot stated that they understood the consequences of terminating their contract early, but they would leave the label regardless, unless you continued to work as their manager. All four of them had signed it.

You felt, suddenly, like you had just been catapulted to the seventieth floor—sixty floors above the hotel’s tallest floor—and reached the top in about two seconds. There seemed to be cotton in your ears that made the rest of the room sound foggy somehow.

You realised where Jungkook had been this morning before he returned to your hotel room.

“I see,” you said, and then tried, very poorly, to articulate your thoughts, “I was—I wasn’t—I see.”

You remembered Namjoon telling you once that he and the band would not sit idly if they found out that the label made you resign. You supposed that a part of you had thought it was simply a nice thing to say, and nothing more. You hadn’t expected him to really mean it.

Reggie finally looked up, glancing from Duke’s scowl to your uncomfortable expression.

“Okay,” Reggie said, finally returning to the page in your contract where he had paused earlier. “So, are there any conflicts of interest that we should know about?”

You swallowed, your stomach still clenched as you attempted to process everything, not feeling any relief just yet.

“No,” you said. “There aren’t any.”

“Okay,” Reggie said again. “Shall we proceed then?”

“Yes. Let’s proceed.”

“Perfect. We—”

“Actually,” Salma interjected, putting her phone down. “There’s another matter that CJ wanted me to bring up. If you don’t mind, Reg?”

Reggie pulled back from the papers on the table, a little annoyed, but he motioned for Salma to take over anyway. Duke gazed out the window, completely unfazed by Salma’s disregard for him.

“Alright,” the producer said, turning to you. “The leaked album cover, then.”

You blinked, not having expected to discuss the bathtub picture today. You wondered if that would be a conflict of interest, but decided not to ask. It might turn out to be profitable, too.

“I’ve, uh, explained to CJ that it won’t happen again,” you said.

“We know,” Salma replied. “But CJ is thinking if we should sue. Or, at the very least, threaten legal action? If someone’s spying on your servers—”

“Someone—uh, no,” you scratched the back of your neck, “to be honest, we’ve already taken steps to prevent any future breaches. Anything more than that would be a, uh... waste of resources, really.”

You weren’t lying; you had really contained Sid. And there was no need to divulge more information about that, you thought bitterly. Or they might include that in your file, too.

You still half-expected someone in the room to directly mention Sid anyway, even despite not knowing about his connection to the album cover. He got arrested during the band’s show in London, after all. But no one said anything about him, and you didn’t either.

You felt glad that, aside from publicising the bathtub picture, Sid now held as much significance to your life as the random hotel guest singing loudly outside the conference room window: vaguely bothersome, but largely irrelevant.

“Oh, well, I’m happy to hear that,” Salma said, glancing at Reggie across the table—he was reading something on his phone and didn’t notice her gaze. “I talked to Namjoon for a minute after we arrived last night, but he didn’t mention anything. Has the band decided on a release date for the first single?”

This whole meeting turned out to be something you hadn’t prepared for, and your anxiety didn’t quite know how to handle it.

“Uh, soon,” you replied. “They’re still working on it.”

Salma smiled. Sensing your unease, she reached over to give your shoulder a friendly squeeze.

“Namjoon said exciting things are coming,” she said. You appreciated her light tone. “I can’t wait.”

“Yeah. They definitely are.”

“Alright, well,” Reggie cut in as he put his phone down. His voice sounded a little impatient, but he remained more composed than Duke, who yawned, bored again, and spun in his office chair. “Let’s finish this up, yeah? Still got three more pages to go.”

The three pages ended up taking another half an hour to get through as Reggie went out of his way to explain everything, checking and double-checking every questionable clause, and asking you about all the things that he had initially planned not to ask about. He was still worried about the company’s laid-back attitude towards employee privacy, you could tell. But you were so tired of this that you were almost ready to sign anything just to finally leave this room.

Once the meeting finally concluded—and you did, in fact, have to sign at least ten dotted lines—you found out that Reggie and Duke had decided to stay in Paris to see Rated Riot’s show. Salma promised them it would be great and took them to lunch at a café a few blocks away, giving you a wink as she left. She saved you from more small talk, and you made a mental note to buy her a drink sometime later.

There was another important conversation you needed to have today, and dialling Nick’s number after everything you’ve already endured turned out to be very easy.

You hoped to explain everything to him quickly, maintaining a good relationship with him in case of potential collaborations between the bands you managed. But you ended up being a little too diplomatic: you had to repeat your refusal to join his team three times before Nick understood what you were saying.

He was not surprised. He said that he’d been hearing a lot about Rated Riot every time he went out with someone from his staff, so he understood your decision to stay with them. And then, most unexpectedly, he asked if you could arrange for him and a few Reconnaissance members to attend one of Rated Riot’s final European shows in Italy.

This time, it was Nick who had to repeat himself three times for you to comprehend the request.

You were well aware of the admiration and reverence that Rated Riot had for Reconnaissance; the number of times that the boys had attended their concerts was too inappropriate to mention out loud.

Now, the members of Reconnaissance were interested in attending Rated Riot’s show. And despite your skin tingling with excitement, you were almost afraid to share this news with the band, fearing they might break something—namely, their necks—once they heard about it.

As promised, Jungkook waited until you left for your meeting before he ensconced himself in your empty hotel room, anticipation pulsating a lively rhythm in his chest.

When your playlist loaded on his screen—actually titled, ‘why?’ in all capital letters as you’d said—he checked the duration and briefly considered finding heart drops before he began to listen.

Scrolling through the tracks, he noticed the dates when you added them to the playlist, offering him a clear roadmap of your emotions over the years. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself as he reclined on the bed and tried to relax.

The first song was added about two weeks after the Freshman event where you claimed to have noticed him for the first time. It was a song by Sleeping With Sirens—“My heart is yours to fill or burst, to break or bury, or wear as jewelry, whichever you prefer”—and Jungkook accepted that not even heart drops could help him get through this playlist.

When, three songs later, he reached Bring Me The Horizon—“Your voice makes my heart skip beats, so keep quiet before it flatlines”—and realised that he still hadn’t talked to you at this point in the playlist, he felt his hands begin to shake.

It was true, then. You had really seen him for the first time at the same moment he had seen you, and you’ve had a crush on him since then, too.

The lyrics of the next song by Black Veil Brides—“One look and I am sold, you got me on my knees”—were a prophecy, because this was where it all began. You’ve added it just one day after your first conversation outside of class, and it marked the point where Jungkook recognised every word of every upcoming song because he’d experienced them all with you.

Bad Omens’ “Crawl” brought back your first date in the park under the pouring rain, where the two of you had revealed everything that weighed on you, despite only knowing each other for a little over a week. Jungkook recalled a sense of disbelief at how easily the two of you had connected. Logically, there should have been barriers between you, things that you kept to yourselves for fear of scaring each other away. But sharing everything from that very first moment had felt right—it was later that honesty became scary.

Between the city's gates and nowhere is where I'll be, my dear. Ghost of soldiers will greet you and point the way to me, my dear.

Sleep Token’s “Fields of Elation” reminded him of your second date at the carnival, where he had stumbled over his thoughts, attempting to ask you to be his girlfriend. You’d said yes, despite not understanding his jumbled question. He remembered the anticipation he’d felt back then, too: he wanted to kiss you so much that he was nearly vibrating, nearly spinning on an invisible propeller attached to his chest. And when he finally pressed his lips to yours, he thought he’d never pull away again.

Your name is a sin I breathe like oxygen, caught in the careless arms of lust again.

Biffy Clyro’s “Many of Horror” was a song that echoed through every significant moment in your relationship. Jungkook noted that you’d added it a few days after the first time he’d stayed over at your dorm room. It had actually been an accident: you brought him back after a campus party to help him sober up a little, and he ended up falling asleep on your bed. He woke up sometime at three in the morning, and the two of you stayed up talking and listening to music for the rest of the night.

If Jungkook closed his eyes right now, he could still see you watching him as he sang along to the song for the very first time, your hands intertwined on the pillows on your bed. You had always looked at him with something magical in your gaze, and he remembered how long it took for him to get used to maintaining eye contact with you without feeling dizzy.

I still believe, it’s you and me ‘til the end of time.

He reached Paramore’s “The Only Exception” shortly after that, and had to play it twice because the first listen had emptied his thoughts. You’ve added the song—with a line that he could not get through without his breath hitching: “That was the day that I promised I’d never sing of love if it does not exist, but darling, you are the only exception”—at least a month before he first told you he loved you under a canopy of blooming cherry blossoms.

There was also an Architects song on your playlist right after that—“I used to think that I knew better than those around me, but something changed along the way, and you’re the reason I’m wanting to stay”—and he remembered, right away, all the fears the two of you used to have, and all the fears you were still fighting to this day. You had never been sure if you believed in love, and he struggled to accept that he didn’t need to work in order to deserve love. But all of that had seemed trivial back then, almost irrelevant when you were staying up until the sunrise in your dorm room, your eyes bright, your hearts awake. Jungkook could tell, as he listened to your playlist, that you were already in love.

Your communication used to be so effortless back then. It only became harder to keep talking to each other when your relationship grew into the most meaningful aspect of your lives. The fear of damaging it made you both retreat into silence.

Now, you had both grown enough to understand that it wasn’t silence that saved a relationship; it was the willingness to talk about it.

There were a few Reconnaissance songs in your playlist, too, and Jungkook smiled again, knowing he was the reason you’d added them. He remembered the excitement of attending the band’s show for the first time. You’d been there with him, even though you hadn’t heard their music before, and he’d felt elated when you admitted how much you enjoyed it.

It would be beautiful, Jungkook thought in a sudden moment of solemn reflection, if you went on to manage Reconnaissance now. But it’d be equally as beautiful if you stayed with him, allowing Rated Riot to surpass the one band that he had admired for most of his life.

Checking the time on the corner of his screen, Jungkook concluded that your meeting must have already started. Taking a deep breath, he skipped the next few Reconnaissance songs.

Def Leppard’s “When Love And Hate Collide” played next, and Jungkook chuckled at the memory of your first Valentine’s Day together. You had gone to a restaurant for dinner, and you’d both had a little too much wine. This song had started to play and despite hearing it for the first time, he tried very hard to serenade you from across the table: “one night alone is like a year without you, baby.” His tongue kept getting caught on his teeth as he tried to guess the next lyrics, but you were making half-hearted attempts to shush him as you laughed, and he silently vowed to spend every Valentine’s Day with you for the rest of his life.

He doubted he grasped how serious he was about this promise back then. There were only two Valentine’s Days that he had to survive without you—and he drank them both away, understandably—but since you re-entered his life, he had kept his word.

He was drunk when he sent you flowers for Valentine’s Day that first February after you started to work with Rated Riot. He was rarely sober at the time, so this wasn’t unusual, but he had enough brain to leave an anonymous note with the flowers. He knew you might quit on the spot if you learned that the bouquet of roses was from him.

Honestly, he couldn’t explain why he felt compelled to send you the flowers at all. You were broken up for two years at that point, and he prided himself on having moved on. But then he sent you another bouquet the next Valentine’s Day, just a few months before the start of this tour. He didn’t know why he did it that time, either.

He told himself that it was tradition, ignoring the blatant truth that he was still excessively in love with you. Claiming that this was just a habit was simply a good way to justify his actions to himself.

You never mentioned anything, so he assumed you never suspected him to be behind the flowers—and he was relieved. He knew he would have had to downplay it if you confronted him about it, and he didn’t want to. He wasn’t joking. He’d meant every stem, every sharp thorn, and every scarlet petal.

An overwhelming number of Arctic Monkeys songs in your playlist followed your first spring together: double-dates with Kihyun and Chloé, meeting each other’s families, attending campus parties together, and spending nights in your dorm room where you’d study and he’d do everything to distract you.

The lyrics of “R U Mine?”—“Unfair we’re not somewhere misbehaving for days”—reminded him of one night when the two of you were smoking outside of a party, on the corner of the library building. You had used his lighter to burn the first letters of your names on the wall, with a heart in between. You were drunk, of course, but this was the first time he’d seen you break the campus rules by defacing a public building.

A few months later, when you were walking around campus with Kihyun and Chloé, Kihyun had spotted the two initials on the wall of the library, and paused.

“Wait,” he’d said, eyeing the burn marks, “this kind of looks like—”

“Yeah, I did that,” you’d cut him off, and walked away without looking back.

Surprised, Kihyun turned to him, and Jungkook grinned proudly, running to catch up with you. He knew, at that moment, that he would be truly, wholeheartedly yours forever.

Your summer roadtrip songs came next in your playlist, and Jungkook could no longer sit idly as he listened to Papa Roach’s, “you know I love it when you’re down on your knees, and I’m a junkie for the way that you please.” He remembered you singing along and stealing kisses as he drove the two of you down coastal roads in a rental car. He remembered chasing you down the beach, stumbling over abandoned sandcastles, and washing the sand off your skin every night. He remembered every moment vividly and he was very close to tearing the mattress with his nostalgic bouncing.

Bring Me The Horizon’s “Follow You” marked your first anniversary, and it was easily one of the most played songs during your relationship. Jungkook remembered having a dream, months before your anniversary, about renting a convertible and taking you to a restaurant that he definitely couldn’t afford. And he made it happen—even despite some unexpected challenges along the way, like your battle with bugs and the wind in the car. Still, you managed to arrive at the restaurant two minutes before your reservation was cancelled. And all that this experience taught him was that he was perfect with anything, no matter how messy and downright chaotic, as long as you were with him.

So you can drag me through hell, if it meant I could hold your hand.

The Ramones’ “Do You Wanna Dance?” took him back to the days in your dorm room when you were practically living together: you’d come back after class and spend the afternoon eating snacks, watching films, sometimes going out to get groceries and drinks. And you’d dance a lot—although, at first, you merely nodded your head or tapped your feet while he got entangled in the curtains with his ridiculous, extravagant moves. He always pulled you in to join him, sooner or later. And despite your accidental kicks to his shins, you soon found yourself at complete ease. You had never thought you’d dance without getting drunk first, and Jungkook took pride in pushing you out of your comfort zone. He hadn’t yet realised—not fully—that he was your comfort zone.

Do you wanna dance and hold my hand? Tell me, baby, I’m your lover man.

You added Fall Out Boy’s “Homesick At Space Camp” to your playlist during your hospital stay six years ago, and Jungkook had to remind his heart to keep beating as he listened to the song. You had argued so much back then—you were mad that he’d wasted his time by calling an ambulance for you, and he was mad that he had no other choice. You were mad that he’d failed his exam, and he was mad that he couldn’t tell you the real reason he’d failed. But the underlying truth behind all those arguments was that you both cared about each other too much.

The song also reminded him of you fainting on this tour. You protested and complained that time, too. But you’d stayed in bed. You’d listened. And you’d finally accepted, he could tell, how much your well-being mattered to him, and how deeply he regretted taking you for granted.

My smile’s an open wound without you.

Hearing Backstreet Boys in your playlist next made him shake his head to himself. He couldn’t escape the nightmares from the birthday party when he’d performed “As Long As You Love Me”, but he supposed he didn’t really want to escape that much anyway. This night had brought you so much joy. Really, that was the only reason he sang that song for you—he saw the way your eyes glittered, the way you clapped your hands and laughed as he set up the chair for his performance. He would have done far stupider things to see you laugh like that again.

Several more Architects songs, vastly different from the ones he heard before, marked your second Valentine’s Day. That was the year he gave himself a concussion and earned a month-long suspension for “stealing” the laboratory projector. You’d spent that month together in your dorm, and even despite his many blunders, Jungkook could sense from the songs in your playlist that your relationship was still going well.

He scrolled past several uplifting dance hits and slower love ballads, listening to a few seconds of each—just so he could taste the memories of those days on his tongue. Just so he could remember humming these songs in your ear before you fell asleep on his bed, your feet cold against his ankles. And he felt his chest expand at the thought that you were listening to these same songs without him, too. It thrilled him to imagine that you thought of him before falling asleep as often as he’d thought of you.

He found many songs that his grandmother had recommended in your playlist, and his heart warmed as he played Black Sabbath’s “Symptom of the Universe”, Mötley Crüe’s “Helter Skelter”, Corrosion of Conformity’s “Albatross” and several others that the two of you had come to love. He recalled how touched his grandmother had been—almost as much as he was—when she saw your eyes light up at her music collection. You had earned her endless affection when you complimented her taste in music and wrote down the song titles to look them up later.

Jungkook lingered on the first of the several Type O Negative tracks in your playlist, reminiscing about the countless moments when he felt your weight behind him on one of the motorcycles he’d borrowed from Sid to take you on a ride. Although you never played music on his bike, certain songs still revoked memories of your hands tightening around his waist as he accelerated, the city lights blending into a blur around you, the wind catching your hair when he helped you remove your helmet.

Now close those eyes and let me love you to death.

Sleeping with Sirens’ “All My Heart” brought back the summer when he had dyed his hair pink. That summer, the two of you travelled across the country to see Reconnaissance live for the third time. That same summer, you bought him the “JK” keychain (he’d already reattached it to the keys to his Katana). He played basketball with your little brother that summer, too, always letting him win. Actually, he would never admit this out loud, but he’d stopped holding back eventually, because your brother proved to be exceptionally—unfairly, even—skilled. Jungkook had joked and laughed, and hoped you would think he was missing his shots on purpose.

Those late summers we may stay up talking all night. I ask, “you think we’ll ever make it?”, you say, “I’m sure, if it’s right.”

Next came I See Stars’ cover of “Latch”, and Jungkook felt his smile grow wider. You fell in love with the song on your second anniversary when both of you had the flu and spent that entire week in bed in your dorm room. Technically, Jungkook had gotten sick first—but you refused to leave his side, and the two of you ended up celebrating the occasion with cough drops and swollen lymph nodes. You weren’t awake enough to watch any films that week, but you were just lucid enough to listen to music and cough rhythmically.

Now I’ve got you in my space, I won’t let go of you. Got you shackled in my embrace, I’m latching onto you.

He closed his eyes as he listened to the songs that followed, feeling himself return to the days you’d spent baking in the cramped kitchen of his dormitory, the long roads home you’d taken after class just to spend more time together, the many instruments you’d tried to learn and failed miserably.

These were the days you’d wait for him before classes with two paper cups of coffee. The days you’d send him silly selfies and threaten murder if he kept them (he kept them). The days you’d throw notes at him in the middle of your shared lectures, intentionally aiming for his head: you’d draw a heart in the middle of the paper, and nothing else. These were the days that he dreamed about, years later, when he was missing you too much to breathe.

But then, looking down as though caught in some crime, Jungkook realised that there was something else in between these memories. There were nights he’d spend drinking and drag-racing with Sid and the others. There were arguments with you and childish silent treatments. He remembered how much time he’d spent trying to find a way to make it up to you, but never actually did.

Nothing But Thieves began to play “Afterlife” on your playlist, and it reminded Jungkook of the day you went with him to get his first tattoo. He’d gone out with Sid the night before—he usually did back then—and the two of you had argued about it again. But despite the tension, you’d grabbed your bag and left for the tattoo parlour with him.

Looking back now, he realised—with a violent stab in his heart—that this might have been the last good moment in your relationship before it all fell apart around you. You had laughed and teased him that whole day, but he couldn’t forget the look on your face after he’d walked you home later. He couldn’t even touch you then because he was carrying his gym bag in his left hand, and his right one was bandaged to protect the fresh ink.

“You’ll take care of it, right?” you’d asked him outside of your dorm. “Don’t get an infection.”

“I’m not sure I’ll manage,” he’d teased. “You might have to keep an eye on me.”

And you’d smiled, but it hadn’t quite reached your eyes. You’d promised to come over and look at the tattoo for him—and you had, every day—but your voice sounded weary. He’d kissed you before leaving, and you’d kissed him back, but your lips quivered when you pulled away.

He’d seen all the signs, but he had not known what to do.

It was only ever you, it was only ever you, my baby. It feels like a lifetime, oh God, I don’t think I could do two.

Your third-anniversary song was Asking Alexandria’s “I Won’t Give In.” It was significantly less happy compared to some of the previous songs, but your third anniversary was significantly less happy, too. Jungkook had wanted to make it special for you—to make up for all the days that weren’t—so he bought tickets to a special screening of Howl’s Moving Castle at the small cinema outside of campus. He persuaded the lady at the ticket office not to sell any other tickets with a heart-wrenching story about how he was trying to save his relationship—in retrospect, he didn’t think he was lying—so it’d just be the two of you in the theatre.

He had brought you wildflowers that he’d picked himself because he only remembered the flowers halfway to your house. But he had a bruise running alongside his forearm from where he had driven the car that Sid had gifted him into the metal fence of an abandoned factory, and you understood right away what he’d been doing that whole week. You saw his bruises, saw the incessant messages lighting up his phone, and sighed, telling him that you were too tired to go out tonight.

“Maybe another time,” you’d said.

“But,” he’d tried to argue, his voice a whisper, “it’s our anniversary.”

“I know,” you’d replied, and he saw the regret in your eyes when you stopped avoiding his gaze for a second. “Maybe we could stay here instead, and—”

His phone had started to vibrate, cutting you off. He’d glanced at Sid’s name on his screen, then put his phone away.

“Sorry,” he’d said, ignoring the call. “We made plans to meet up later, but Sid can’t tell the time.”

He hadn’t even realised what he’d said—not even when you swallowed and clenched your jaw.

“You’re meeting later?” you’d asked.

“Yeah, but just for a few hour—”

“It’s okay,” you’d said. “You can go ahead and meet up now. I don’t feel like doing much today anyway.”

He had started to protest, of course. He had enough sense to understand that it wasn’t right, he couldn’t just go out with Sid on your anniversary without celebrating it with you first. But you’d closed the door in his face—gently, but the sound of the lock clicking still echoed in his head years later.

When this night returned to haunt his dreams, Jungkook always knocked on your door again. He begged and demanded you let him back inside. He stayed outside your door the whole night, waiting for you to come out.

He’d done none of that back then. He’d turned around and answered Sid’s call.

I gave you everything, I never thought we would end up like this. I gave you everything, if I can’t let you go, save me, please.

Jungkook could see now that he had reached the point in the playlist where every track worked like kerosene on his burning skin. He listened to several Bullet For My Valentine and Invent Animate songs, skipping them after the first verse, not even making it to the chorus, because he knew what the lyrics reminded him of, and he did not want to remember.

However, a Biffy Clyro song that you’d added to your playlist a few days after your break-up made him turn on his back on the bed, every muscle in his body tensed. He would listen to this one because he had to—even though he knew the lyrics by heart.

You can’t understand that I won’t leave ‘til we’re finished here, and then you’ll find out where it all went wrong.

It really did take him years to understand. You’d stayed with him through entire weeks of silence, through numerous break-up songs, and he had been too blind, too paralysed—too fucking distracted—to do anything. He’d convinced himself that if he didn’t acknowledge your troubles, the two of you would be okay. He hadn’t even bothered to think about how bad these troubles were.

You were hoping you’d be okay, too. And you stayed until it was clear that you wouldn’t be.

Your playlist changed after the two of you broke up. And, as he scrolled down a bit, Jungkook noticed a pattern. He doubted you were aware of it, but the songs seemed to progress, like a true textbook case, right through the stages of grief. And his heart sank when he realised that the first stage—Denial—had started while you were still together.

Asking Alexandria’s “Killing You” was the start of the Anger stage, and Jungkook forced himself to listen to at least half of each song, his jaw tightening with every lyric that ripped another splinter from his heart.

Three years of torment and torturous love, stained with tears and mistrust, enough is enough.

As your playlist reached the Bargaining stage, Jungkook felt the room closing in on him. Bad Omens began to sing “The Letdown” and he forced himself to sit up again. This was the song that he’d spent many sleepless nights praying to.

He listened to it now and realised that he’d never gone through Denial or Anger. You’d left him and he moved right into Bargaining, and he’d stayed there for the entirety of those four years that he wasn’t with you.

If I could make it simpler, if I could get back to the start, I would keep you even closer so that I could hear your heart.

He tried to tally up the amount of alcohol he’d consumed through those years without you, and the amount he’d consumed after you started to work with Rated Riot.

And he realised now that a subconscious part of him might have been conditioned into believing that if he drank too much—if he drank just enough for it to be too much—then Sid would call you to pick him up, and you’d come.

So he drank a lot.

There was one night in particular when his drinking nearly killed him: he’d assumed you were out on a date with someone else and he abruptly lost all purpose. Sid had called you that night—of course—and you came to pick him up—of course. Jungkook slurred through a “where were you?” that he knew he had no right to ask you, and you’d said, “I had dinner with the executives. We were discussing your band.” He couldn’t remember what happened next; he must have blacked out. He was hungover for three days straight after that—and you yelled at him every day for the next two weeks—but he felt ridiculously relieved.

Your playlist transitioned into Depression and the air around him thickened. Jungkook listened to Nothing But Thieves again, and he thought he could feel the cold, tiled floors of his bathroom under his feet—the bathroom where he’d woken up on so many afternoons, his head resting against the porcelain of the toilet, the room spinning out of control around him. It used to take him about three seconds to recognise his surroundings and remember the state that his life was in, and he would start seeking a remedy for his throbbing sobriety again.

And now it hurts what we’ve become ‘cause you taught me how to love. It’s me who taught you how to stop.

Your playlist continued and Jungkook recognised fragments of his life—both, after your break-up, and after you’ve started to work together—in every song that played next, starting from blink-182—“I feel like the moon is spinning off into outer space without you, the universe an empty place without you”—moving into Slipknot—“I still press your letters to my lips and cherish them in parts of me that savour every kiss. I couldn’t face a life without your light, but all of that was ripped apart when you refused to fight”—and finishing with Bon Jovi—“It’s been raining since you left me, now I’m drowning in the flood, you see, I’ve always been a fighter, but without you, I give up.”

These were the songs that you used to listen to together, some of them not memorable enough to leave a lasting impression, others not reflecting your feelings at the time. You didn’t add them to your playlist until after you broke up, and the lyrics started to resonate. Jungkook had listened to the same songs when he couldn’t sleep—not to cure his insomnia, but to drown out his thoughts. To have someone else narrate his memories so he wouldn’t have to listen to himself.

It dawned on him just then that you’d come full circle: from waiting a year to talk about your crushes on each other, to waiting several years to talk about all the years that you’d spent not talking to each other.

Swallowing hard, Jungkook continued. He listened to Sleep Token’s “Blood Sport”—“Even if the sky cracks in mourning and the heavens just won’t open up for me, would you invite me in again?”—and hesitated here, afraid of the next song. Here, you were still hopeful. Still bargaining. He didn’t think he was ready to find Acceptance in your playlist.

But “Patience” by Guns N’ Roses followed up next—“If I can’t have you right now, I’ll wait, dear”—and Jungkook started to fidget. He only listened to a few seconds of the song, just long enough to brace himself, and then scrolled down to the very end of your playlist.

He paused it immediately.

The final song on your playlist was “Hollow Crown” by Architects. You’ve added it eleven days before he saw you in the meeting room at Jett Records, with CJ’s arm around your shoulders as he introduced you to Jungkook as Rated Riot’s new manager.

These wounds have bled and pages fly by, the lyrics of the song went. I need to feel you right by my side.

It was truly incredible how quickly the song healed his heart, how quickly it dispelled the thick tar of dread in his stomach—because it wasn’t Acceptance that finished your playlist. It was the same otherworldly sentiment—the one you had refused to name or even acknowledge for years—that started the playlist, too.

You didn’t add any more songs after you started to work together, but you didn’t have to. Jungkook knew what happened next. And now he knew that you’d been waiting for him for as long as he’d been waiting for you.

His phone suddenly vibrated in his hand, and he jumped up, exiting the Spotify app in surprise. It was a text from you, and he stood up immediately.

You were saying you’d meet him in the lobby in half an hour, but he couldn’t sit still for that long.

He went down to wait for you.

Jungkook wasn’t in the lobby when you arrived. You saw him in the courtyard through the window, carefully balancing on the edge of the decorative circle in the stone tiles.

When he caught sight of you in his peripheral vision, he stopped and you paused in the doorway of the hotel, too. The sunbeams danced in his eyes when he turned to you, the silver piercing glinting against his lip as his smile stretched.

You were so in love with him that it shouldn’t have been possible.

He waited for approximately a quarter of a second once he saw you take a step towards him—a reaction speed that could have made Formula One drivers envious—before breaking into a sprint towards you. He met you halfway and wrapped his arms around your waist in a tight embrace that nearly knocked you both to the floor.

He held you without saying one word for an obscene amount of time. He had always struggled to describe what he was feeling, but he usually tried to find something to say anyway. Now he wasn’t trying anymore—and all of his feelings had never been louder.

“You listened to my playlist, I take it,” you said, one hand tracing the contours of his back, the other tangled in the edges of his hair.

Jungkook nodded, attempting to respond, but the wind and the roughness of your jacket against his cheek swallowed his words. So, he held onto you tighter, thinking, all the while, that the only true peace he was able to find in his life was with you. And he’d been scared for so long—terrified right out of his mind—that he would never feel this peace again. That he would never feel you again.

“Why didn’t you show it to me before?” he asked, his hesitant voice reaching you in the form of shivers on your spine.

You gave a careful shrug.

“It’s embarrassing,” you said—but your arms remained around him in the middle of the courtyard, in plain view for everyone inside the hotel to see, and it was a little hard to believe that there was anything you wouldn’t have done with him or for him, embarrassed or not.

He lifted his head to meet your gaze, a quizzical eyebrow arched on his otherwise warm features. “Loving me is embarrassing?”

You smiled, lowering your hands from his hair to the back of the silver chain around his neck.

“No,” you said. “Pining over you is.”

He observed you for a moment, trying to read your expression to gauge how your meeting went without having to ask. You weren’t saying anything, and he immediately assumed the worst.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped back, but kept his hand on your elbow to keep touching you, however faintly.

“So, how was it?” he asked. “When are you leaving?”

He had only given you one option, but he appeared to dread the thought of you confirming his fears.

“Never,” you said, a little amused by his extreme pessimism. “Can you wait that long?”

The sudden fire in his eyes suited him better than any piece of clothing or expensive jewellery ever could.

“Yeah?” he asked, returning to his spot right in front of you, his chest brushing against yours.

“Yeah,” you confirmed with a smile that he’d been looking forward to for days. “I’ve signed the new contract. The lawyers are staying here to attend your show. It looks like we’re taking over the world. Life is good.”

“Fuck yeah, life is good!” he shouted, the happiness in his voice reverberating off the buildings around you.

His relief was immense and almost impossible to contain within. You’d already promised him that you’d stay together no matter what happened today, but he wanted you here. And you were here. And now he could finally start righting his wrongs and creating new playlists with you—ones that wouldn’t hurt to listen to years later.

Before you could say anything, Jungkook sneaked his arms around your waist again and lifted you slightly off the ground—just enough to spin you around in a dizzying, ecstatic circle.

“Wait, wait, wait—” you pleaded, but your surprised laughter sent his heart straight past heaven, and he could not wait. “Th-the email. Why didn’t you tell me anything?”

He put you down but kept his hands on your waist to steady you.

“What emai—oh.” His gaze drifted past you, then dropped to the ground. “They got it, then?”

You nodded. “They got it.”

“I assume it made no difference.”

“It made a difference,” you said because that email was the only thing from that meeting that you wanted to remember. Jungkook glanced at you, but the gratitude in your eyes was so intense that he looked away again. “It could have been a huge risk. Why did you do that?”

He shrugged. It was an easy decision. No one in the band had objected when Yoongi suggested it before the last show in London. They hoped that the threat of leaving would be enough, but if it came to it, they were prepared to actually leave the label with you.

“I go where you go,” he said with a soft smile, repeating the words you’d said to him on the plane to Paris. “And my band and I are a package deal.”

You grinned, and even though the sky above you was now the colour of muddy, melted ice—a clear reminder that summer was over—you felt like you had just emerged from a dreadfully long and stressful hibernation. Your skin tingled with an almost insatiable urge to experience it all: the rain, the sunshine, and all that came in between.

“Thank you,” you said. “I want to stay with all of you.”

“Yeah?” He was close enough to touch your forehead with his, his lips curling into a smirk. “But with me the most, right?”

You took advantage of the moment when he glanced down to your lips and leaned in to kiss him—for just a second, before you pulled back to see the surprised wonder in his eyes.

“Of course,” you said. “You’ve always been my favourite.”

In an instant, Jungkook found himself back there again—somewhere in the days between Bad Omens and Biffy Clyro—dancing on the creaking floors of your dorm room, sneaking away to a random balcony during campus parties to steal a moment alone with you, and making up scenarios of what your future together would look like.

He realised that the two of you had never truly left those days; you’ve merely paused them. But the music—your music, together—continued to play.

In a split second, he pulled you as close to himself as he could, and pressed his lips to yours in a proper kiss. Your hands came to rest on his chest as you kissed him back, your taste so captivating, so completely tempting, that he lost several heartbeats on your tongue. He knew that your kiss would kill him one of these days, and he pitied everyone who would keep living.

“Oh!” you gasped suddenly, breaking the kiss and nearly causing him to flinch. He loosened his hold, alarmed. “The label—they thought we were together this whole time, by the way.”

Jungkook blinked, then frowned, then blinked a few more times—frozen for one, two, three seconds before taking a cautious step away from you.

He regarded you with scepticism for a long minute. Then his left eye twitched.

“What?” he asked.

You bit your lip, nodding at the absurdity. “I know.”

Jungkook continued to look like he had just witnessed the second coming of Christ, and it wasn’t quite what he expected.

“So, what was all of this for—”

“I don’t know,” you replied, the clutches of anxiety in your stomach finally easing. “A good song came out of it all, though.”

“A good so—yeah, and a heightened risk of a heart attack at twenty-six,” he snapped, furrowing his eyebrows again. “How do—what do you mean they thought we were—how? The whole time?”

“Yeah.”

He began to pace around you in the courtyard, his hands rising higher and higher with each attempt at a sentence. He seemed to be talking to spirits that only he could see.

“And they—and you didn’t—so we could have just—”

You nodded empathetically. “Mhmm. Seems so.”

He finally stopped and turned to you. “Am I asleep right now? Is this a joke?”

“No, they knew about it all along,” you said. “Actually, it gets worse. It seems that CJ might have hired me for Rated Riot precisely because we had dated.”

Jungkook widened his eyes for only a moment, still appearing a little perplexed, but no longer outraged. He turned away, lost in thought all of a sudden, and poked a loose tile with the edge of his boot.

“What’s—what are you thinking?” you asked, a little concerned about his abrupt silence.

“I—nothing. I’m just—that reminded me of something,” he replied, sliding his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “After we signed with Jett Records, there was this, I don’t know, weird moment. We came in for our first formal meeting with CJ, and he kept staring at me. The band had jokingly told him that I was the lead songwriter—which I’m definitely not—so I assumed that was the reason. And then, as we were leaving the room, he shook my hand for a whole minute and said, “I have incredible things planned for you. Let’s make that “Haunting” Part Two happen, yeah?” I didn’t think much of it at the time, but it—I don’t know.”

You didn’t like how quickly Jungkook offered a story that supported everything that Reggie and Duke had told you earlier today, and you frowned, struggling to grasp the multitude of thoughts and questions in your mind.

“That was—“Haunting” was the first Rated Riot song that CJ heard,” Jungkook added.

Although he’d written this song to be as inconspicuous as possible, he never tried to hide that it was about you—if people asked. And CJ had asked.

Jungkook had been vague that time, claiming it was about “someone important” to him, but perhaps CJ got more curious about the meaning of the song than he’d initially let on. Perhaps he’d done additional research.

“It’s the song that made him want to meet the band,” Jungkook continued. “H-he could have—if he knew about us, and he knew that I wrote “Haunting” about you, then he might have hired you for me to—so that you and I—”

“He hired me to give you a jolt,” you finished, “hoping it would inspire you to write songs that would bring the label as much money as he thought “Haunting” would have brought.”

Jungkook let out a breath. “Yeah. That—that’s kind of fucked up.”

You nodded. That was the regular way to describe this situation – “fucked up.” But you’ve learnt today that, in business, they called it “profitable.”

Although a lot of your previous anxiety was now replaced with irritation, your relief still lingered. CJ’s plotting had caught you off guard, but ultimately, you were right where you wanted to be, and nothing could change that.

“I had some questions about why they contacted me four—five?—months before you even released your debut album,” you said, “but I—well, you know. I was just happy to stop fillng spreadsheets and do some actual work. Even if it meant driving you to the studio every morning, and back home every night. Did you—did you even add any new songs or make any changes to the album after I started to work with you? You said you had most of it done by that point anyway.”

Jungkook swallowed and did not respond.

You were right, the album was mostly finished when CJ offered you to work with Rated Riot that July, but Jungkook wrote eight new songs in the first week of working with you. Three of them made it to the final cut of the album.

“Shit,” you said, his silence a good enough answer. Half-joking to counter your discomfort, you added, “so, it wasn’t destiny, then. It was CJ.”

Jungkook snorted humourlessly. “Yeah. What a waste of fucking time, though. All the fucking—all this time we worried. And we could have just—wow. We could have just fucking been together.”

That was true, you would have saved a lot of energy if you didn’t have to worry about telling the label about your relationship. But you weren’t sure that it would have helped you stop ignoring each other and yourselves.

If you hadn’t received the trial by fire on this tour, if all your fears and insecurities hadn’t been exposed, you and Jungkook likely wouldn’t have ended up here.

“Yeah, this is…” you faltered, searching for the right word. “This is some heavy shit to process right now, but—I mean, we’re fine. We’re okay. You know? We made it this fucking far.”

The courtyard was empty except for a few pigeons pecking at the dark rocks of a flower garden nearby. Jungkook counted the pavement tiles beneath your sneakers before looking up.

“I’m still having a crisis,” he decided.

You laughed—in a way that he didn’t think he’d ever hear you laugh again, and it sounded like a promise to him. A reassurance that things wouldn’t have to go back to the way they once were, because they were better now. In spite of everything, you were better now.

You took his hand and stepped around him towards the street. “Come on. We’ll be fine. Let’s get something to eat.”

“No, but—we wasted so much time!” he protested, but followed you down the courtyard anyway. It was a reflex more than a conscious effort: you went, and he followed. He was far from being embarrassed about others knowing how completely in love with you—whipped, they would have said—he was.

“We didn’t,” you said. “We still have plenty of time.”

“Not unless I drop dead right now,” he mumbled, stubborn.

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t,” you returned. “I quite enjoy having you alive.”

You felt a tug on your hand when Jungkook suddenly stopped walking. Despite your raised eyebrows, he held your hand and simply watched you for a minute, not explaining his thoughts.

“Do you remember,” he said then, “when we were in Amsterdam, and I asked if you thought we’d ever be here?”

You nodded, not yet following his train of thought.

“What about this?” he asked.

“Paris?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Us. Did you ever imagine we’d still be together, seven years after we met? Did you imagine that some old guy would start an entertainment company, and seek us both out, one after the other, so we could work together and make him money?”

You smiled wryly at the quick—and very accurate—summary. But there wasn’t much to think about here, not really. There was a reason you held onto this relationship for so long that first time, even after it became clear that it was coming to an end.

“I didn’t expect the old guy,” you said. “But I did imagine us together.”

“Despite everything that happened,” he continued, “and every wrong decision that we made over those years?”

You swallowed, finding everything that he’d heard in your playlist reflected in his question. You understood why he needed to ask, but you had no doubts about your answer.

There were times, years before you met him, when you’d feel an abrupt longing—so intense that it would lock you in bed, squirming desperately as you tried to shake yourself out of it. There was no apparent reason for it, no action on your part that could have explained the oppressive heartache that felt a lot like forceful separation from something crucial for your survival. Your heart screamed for it back.

You thought you were in love with him before you even met him.

“Everything that happened still led us here,” you said slowly—unaware that Jungkook was holding his breath as he waited for your answer. “Every time we messed up, every time something went wrong, we were on the way here. And—I mean, I don’t know. I think we would have ended up here one way or another. Actually, it might have taken us longer to get here if everything that backfired on us hadn’t backfired. You know what I mean? We’re a mess.”

His grip on your hand tightened as he watched the smile on your face. He remembered this—you telling him what a mess the two of you were when he kissed you outside of the hotel on your first night in London, right after you’d decided to be friends.

“Do you really think that,” he asked, “or are you just saying it so I don’t have a heart attack?”

You squeezed his hand back.

“I do really think that,” you said. “But also, please don’t have a heart attack.”

Finally allowing himself to breathe, he took a step closer to you. He lifted his hand—the one holding yours—to his chest, and leaned in to kiss you. You could feel his heartbeat under your fingertips when your lips touched, the warmth of his hands melding into yours.

“I love you,” he said, slowly pulling back.

“I love you,” you replied and leaned in to touch his lips with yours again.

Hearing these words over and over again—and feeling you draw him closer to prolong the kiss over and over again, too—seemed like a prospect so delightful that he feared it was a little manic. He was convinced there were fairy lights beneath his skin and fireworks in his chest.

He kissed you fervently, but quickly. A moment later, he was already pulling away and leading you towards the pedestrian crossing.

“Let’s get coffee,” he said in response to the disappointment in your eyes.

“Wait,” you resisted his pull, attempting to slow down his brisk pace, “what’s the rush now?”

“The label thought we were together for two years,” he explained, his grip firm as he paused at the busy street, waited for the light to change, then guided you across it. “We have so much to do to make up for lost time.”

You stepped over the curb but still struggled to catch up as he careened down the street. “And you plan to do all that in one day? Starting from this?”

“This is not even the beginning of what I plan to do,” he replied, winking at you over his shoulder. “If you know what I—”

“If you finish that sentence,” you warned, “we’re going to have our first fight as a couple.”

“Oh, so many new firsts to experience.” He sighed wistfully. Your eyebrows remained comfortably raised as you listened to the reminiscent tone in his voice. “Do you remember our actual first fight as a couple?”

“No,” you replied. “We had so many.”

“Right, but the very first one?” he prodded, finally slowing down so you could match his pace. “I broke your window. You threw a potted plant at me.”

You gasped in protest. You remembered the broken window: it was the result of a three-night drinking binge that he went on without you, only to make a dramatic return through your fire escape, smashing the glass of your window with his elbow. It was an accident, he’d meant to open it the regular way, but he figured this would work, too.

“I did no such thing,” you said.

“You did!” he argued, amused by your selective memory. He was drunk that night, but he remembered the flying pot—and what remained of it after it hit the wall behind him. “It was an Aloe, I think.”

“I’d never throw a plant at you,” you insisted. “I love my plants.”

He looked at you, offended. “Okay. Hello? I’m your boyfriend.”

“I know,” you said, your lips curving into a smile. “Somehow, you require a lot more maintenance than plants.”

“Ah, now I see your point,” he said, turning back to face the street ahead, “we really are about to have our first fight as a couple.”

You chuckled and tugged on his hand to indicate the signboard of a café in the building on your right. “Coffee first?”

“Oh, yeah.” He took a step back to return to your side and kissed your cheek. “Definitely.”

You managed to organise a quick meeting before the show that night to officially announce your promotion and all that it meant for the band. You didn’t get to mention the new opening act, however, because the members erupted into deafening cheers.

Their follow-up reactions—after you brought up the email they had sent to the label—seemed almost comical. All four of them stopped shouting as if on cue and glanced around the room, avoiding your eye and desperately feigning nonchalance.

“We—we’re family,” Yoongi finally said. He struggled to mask his discomfort at your gratitude the most, because you looked at him the most—he was the one who had suggested the email. “One for all, and all for one. Or whatever.”

You nodded with a grin. “Or whatever.”

Hoseok was the first to extend his hand, and the rest of the band followed, stacking their hands on top of each other. You placed yours on Jungkook’s, and with a loud battle cry—an anthem for the band, at this point—all five of you broke apart. The boys hurried out of the room to escape any more sentimental conversations and to get ready for the show.

The first concert in Paris was a dizzying spectacle of flashing lights and intoxicating sounds. You were a little astounded at how Rated Riot still managed to captivate you as if every night was your first time watching them live.

However, for the first time since the start of this tour—it was a miracle this hadn’t happened before, actually—two people in the audience fainted.

You had to run backstage to speak with the venue staff and demand air conditioning, then climb up to the side of the stage to warn the band to control the pit. It was the rhythm section intermission—where Taehyung and Hoseok engaged the audience with sounds that were nearly hallucinogenic—and the barricade was shaking.

You attempted to get Yoongi’s attention because he was the closest to you. But it was Jungkook who noticed you first, climbing off Hoseok’s podium and jogging over to you. You gave him a quick update on the situation and asked him to keep an eye on the crowds. This wasn’t the first time the show got a little too hot, and there were enough paramedics available for first aid, but you still wanted to prevent future accidents.

Jungkook nodded, then turned back to the stage—but stopped, suddenly, as though realising something. You barely managed to part your lips in confusion when he walked back to you in three determined strides, gently lifted your chin and pulled you in for a quick kiss. Then, just as swiftly, he returned to the front of the stage to thundering screams from the audience.

Stunned, you watched Jungkook fall to his knees in dramatic support of the band’s instrumental break. He raised his head to look at you, very proud to be able to do something that caused the dazed look in your eyes, and it took you another minute to force yourself to turn around and return backstage.

Fortunately, by the time the show ended, everyone was alive and well.

You were late to the gathering backstage because you had stayed behind to listen to Seokjin yell—he claimed it was a “peaceful lecture”—at the venue staff about cutting off the air conditioning in the middle of the show. You had to gently coax him to let it go when the local stagehands began to respond to him in aggressive French.

Upon returning to the waiting area, you both noticed that Rated Riot’s dressing room was eerily quiet. Naturally, you started to worry that someone in the band had killed each other. But once you two peered through the gap in the door, you discovered something worse: Hoseok was standing on the table, tapping his lighter against the rim of his glass to get everyone’s attention. He was about to make a toast.

“For those of you who don’t know,” he began as you entered the room, “our manager just got promoted. She’s still our manager, but she’s cooler now. She’s Head Manager.”

Your hopes of finding a drink before you started to feel embarrassed were dashed as the room broke into applause, Namjoon and Jimin leading the way with unnecessary whistling. Cringing into yourself, you nodded in uncomfortable gratitude and made your way to the bottles of beer on the windowsill across the room.

“Our team is expanding,” Yoongi took over then, but he did not join Hoseok on the table, “which naturally, means we’re growing, too. That’s nice and all, but I really hope we can keep fucking drinking like this after every show, even after we sell out Wembley.”

“Wembley next year!” Hoseok cheered, and the rest of the room joined in, raising their glasses. “Here’s to getting drunk every night no matter where the fuck we are!”

It was a loud affair once the band set their contagious excitement loose, but you enjoyed watching their never-ending energy spread to the rest of the room.

“Congratulations,” someone suddenly said from behind you.

It took you a moment to realise that someone had spoken over the noise in the room, and the person touched your shoulder just as you were turning around.

Despite your discomfort with the unexpected attention, you were very happy to see Namjoon. He was beaming proudly as if he was the one who had been promoted tonight, and you extended your hands for a quick hug.

He laughed, patting your back and whispering a soft, “you deserved this.”

“Thank you,” you said, pulling back. “The meeting didn’t go the way I expected, but, uh, all’s well that ends well.”

He nodded, a little dejected. You’d texted him a quick summary of your meeting right after it ended. This time, even Namjoon was surprised about CJ’s ulterior motives.

And he worried, just a little bit, how you would react. He remembered how disappointed you were when you assumed that the offer from Reconnaissance was what prompted CJ to promote you. It had taken you a while to accept that it was your efforts, and not Nick’s call, that had brought you here.

Namjoon knew that there was not much that he could say to convince you of your worth if you focused too much on CJ’s primary reasons for hiring you for the band. It very simply had nothing to do with your skills—but you’ve turned it all around, and every ball that CJ thought he’d hoarded was now in your court.

“Yeah, I’m very excited that you’re staying here,” he said, “but I, um—I’ll admit I don’t know how I feel about CJ exploiting your relationship like that.”

You pursed your lips. You haven’t decided how you felt about that, either. But likely for the first time in your life, you felt too excited for all that was coming to dwell on all that had already happened.

“It was a far stretch, though, wasn’t it?” you said, surprising him with your light tone. “I wonder what he would have done if Jungkook and I had killed each other. Or if every song he wrote was about Sid instead, for example.”

Namjoon smiled, but shook his head. He didn’t think it was a far stretch. He’d encouraged Jungkook to write about real experiences, too, and he was the silent partner on “Haunting.” He’d always known what the song was about.

“It worked out, though,” he said, because you were joking, but he could see the look in your eyes. Being used like this did not feel good. “I mean, for you. Probably not so much for CJ, since you bullied him into giving the band 50% of their last album sales revenue. And then you proved so indispensable that he had to promote you, to stop you from leaving to work with a bigger band.”

You turned away. “I didn’t bully him.”

He grinned, remembering the chaos at the executive meeting after CJ announced the changes in Rated Riot’s royalties. The CEO was on the verge of suggesting that you had a gun pointed to his head to explain why the band’s percentage had doubled.

“I recall there being threats,” Namjoon said.

“Well,” you tsked, “he deserved those. If he only hired me to provoke Jungkook, then he doesn’t deserve the full profit of anything Jungkook creates.”

Namjoon appeared even prouder now, his dimples prominent on his cheeks.

“I agree,” he said. “And you made sure that the label can’t afford to lose you. That sounds like a pretty cool payback for CJ’s questionable decisions.”

You glanced at him, then at the carpeted floors underneath your shoes.

Regardless of how you joined Rated Riot, you and the band have come so far. You’ve endured all that the industry had thrown at you. It shouldn’t have been surprising that the members loved you as much as you loved them, but their support today still felt breathtaking.

It was them, more than anyone, who had made sure that the label couldn’t afford to lose you.

“Did you hear about the email the band sent today?” you asked Namjoon.

“I did,” he confirmed, his grin growing wider still. “They picked up that tactic from you, I think.”

You shook your head, but a small smile had made it to your lips. “No. I think I’m the one who’s learning from them. And from you.”

“Either way,” he said, ignoring the appreciation in your voice and placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You’re all doing great.”

You finally met his warm gaze and nodded. You weren’t going to fight him on this anymore; you knew that Rated Riot had worked hard to get to this point, and you had, too.

Namjoon was thrilled to see this determination in your eyes. You and Rated Riot together were a force to be reckoned with, and he was happy you’ve finally allowed yourself to accept that.

“Thank you,” you said. “Wembley next year, and the rest of the world the year after that, right?”

“Oh.” He laughed and gestured somewhere in the direction of the window, where the collection of alcohol was. “I’ll drink to that.”

A few minutes later, after the Jameson bottles—a kind gift from the promoters—had been emptied, the room seemed to ignite. The people around you began to move much more easily while the music that Seokjin had chosen played in the background, an interesting mix ranging from Kid Cudi’s classics to Coldplay’s latest album.

You and the Rated Riot members found yourselves in a haphazard circle in the centre of the room, each with a new bottle in hand.

“Nick mentioned that some Reconnaissance members are interested in seeing you play,” you told the band. “So now I’m trying to get them in, even though all your upcoming gigs are not just sold out, but already over capacity. That’s a problem I didn’t think we’d have so soo—”

“Hold on, hold on,” Yoongi interjected, holding up his hands and the already-empty bottle of beer. “Reconnaissance want to see us?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed, watching the members exchange glances, their eyes gleaming all of a sudden—another source of light in the room. “I called Nick to decline his offer and update him on everything, and he said—”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait,” Yoongi interrupted again, placing a confused palm over your hand, “so not only did Reconnaissance miss out on the best manager in the industry, but now they want to see us play?”

You caught a glimpse of Jungkook’s grin out of the corner of your eye. He took a quick swig of his Heineken to hide it.

“Well,” you said, still not drunk enough to accept praise without overwhelming discomfort, “if-if that’s how you want to—but yeah. They are coming to see you.”

Yoongi looked simply dumbfounded: his mouth was open, the corners of his lips upturned, his eyes squinting. It was a beautiful sight. You met Luna’s gaze behind Taehyung, and she, too, was beaming as she joined your circle.

For a long time, the members of Rated Riot had measured their success against Reconnaissance at their age, and they had always felt behind. And despite the extended tour, despite moving onto bigger venues, now was the first time when they felt like they were catching up.

“I can’t believe this,” Hoseok said, the exhilaration in his voice prompting the other boys to start high-fiving and exclaiming passionate ‘hell yeah’s.

“Well, so, what—uh, what’s the consensus?” Yoongi asked, snapping out of his daze. “Do we fucking rock or what?”

“Well, I don’t know!” Hoseok played along, the pitch of his passionate voice rising. “Let me check the latest data,” he paused dramatically for two seconds, “alright, the numbers are in. We fucking rock!”

Loud cries followed as the band broke into excited laps around the room. Seokjin, Namjoon, and Jimin—clearly entertained by whatever ritual they’d assumed the band had just held—joined in by attaching themselves to various members: Seokjin picked Jungkook, nearly choking him with an iron grip around his shoulders, while Namjoon and Jimin flocked to Hoseok. Yoongi was already huddled between Taehyung and Luna, repeatedly high-fiving them both.

You were right to feel anxious about telling them about Reconnaissance because the sudden burst of their already intense energy was a little dangerous. Even Yoongi—who was usually as lively as a well-trained turtle—was spinning in the middle of the room. He smacked into you as he whirled, already dizzy, and you grabbed his arm to help him regain his balance.

“I can tell,” you said, chuckling as Yoongi ran a hand through his hair and returned, swaying his drunken hips, to his spot next to Taehyung, “that the rest of this tour is going to be even more exciting.”

“I’m actually not sure if that’s even possible anymore,” Taehyung said, grinning as Yoongi leaned into his side to catch his breath. “After everything that’s already happened.”

He was alluding to more than just the positive excitement of the night—and Jungkook tensed as he made his way to your side—but you pointed your beer bottle at him, disagreeing.

“To be honest, we’re not doing too bad this time around,” you said, moving closer to Jungkook to make room for Maggie and Minjun in your circle. “Last time you guys were on tour, Jungkook got a concussion and dislocated his shoulder.”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows, caught off guard by the sudden attack.

“There was also,” Yoongi said, still breathing heavily, “the dancing incident in New York.”

The rest of the band chuckled—still holding their laughter back—while Jungkook groaned loudly enough for the people outside the room to hear.

“And Taehyung left the tour for a short while,” Hoseok added. “It was a new mess every day.”

You noticed Taehyung’s gaze drop. Luna had mentioned their brief breakup to you before, so you knew why Taehyung had suddenly left that time.

“Jimin got airsick one time, remember?” you offered your own addition to divert the topic. “So, you guys performed without functioning in-ears. Was that in Boston? You—”

“Oh my God, yes,” Maggie joined in, gripping your forearm in her excitement at the memory. “All the photos I took at that show were worthless. They were all staring at the ground the whole time as if that would help them hear better.”

Laughter filled the room as Jimin grumbled about leaving the band instructions for their in-ear monitors—which they cheerily failed to follow without Jimin guiding them every step of the way.

“Oh, and we lost Namjoon once, too!” Hoseok said, laughing even before he finished the sentence.

All eyes turned to the producer, but before Namjoon could offer an explanation, Seokjin scoffed indignantly.

“He was the one who lost us,” he declared. He had been responsible for looking after a drunk Namjoon that night in San Francisco, and he would never admit how poorly he handled that very simple task. “I looked away for one second, and he was gone.”

“He’s like a little kid when he’s really drunk,” Yoongi reminded him. “You should have known that.”

Seokjin rolled his eyes.

“You found him passed out,” you said, remembering the frantic phone call you’d received at three in the morning, “on top of the slide at some nearby playground, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Seokjin said, sending the band into a screeching fit of laughter. “I called his name, he opened one eye, and his body just slid down the slide. Fucking comical, and he’s not even trying to be funny.”

You snickered when Hoseok smacked Namjoon on the chest, holding onto his shoulders for support as his knees wobbled from laughter.

“Alright, then, how about the time we thought Yoongi’s guitar was malfunctioning during one of the shows,” Namjoon said, eager to deflect before the tips of his ears turned any redder, “but it turned out that he actually forgot to plug it in? No one even noticed it until the third song on the setlist.”

Maggie had already begun to wheeze when Luna interjected, “wait—wasn’t the third song, technically, Hobi’s drum solo?”

Hoseok looked very impressed that she remembered, and she gave him a smile and a nod. His drum solo used to be one of her favourite parts of the early Rated Riot shows.

“Yeah,” Yoongi said, snorting. He was no longer bothered by the incident. “I strummed a few chords backstage, and it made no fucking sound.” He suddenly glared at Seokjin. “You convinced Jimin to put me in time-out for not plugging it in.”

“You know very well you deserved that,” Seokjin returned, finishing his drink.

You joined in the laughter. Seokjin and Jimin had relaxed some of their strict policies this time around, because they discovered that the tour couldn’t function if three-quarters of the band were standing in different corners of the venue, waiting to be taken out of time-out before they were supposed to go on stage.

“What about Hoseok personally buying everyone drinks after each show?” Jungkook suggested. “He practically spent half our earnings in random bars.”

Agreeing nods and murmurs followed, and Hoseok merely shrugged, not denying the accusation.

“And what about you finishing most of the drinks that Hoseok bought?” Minjun bit, grinning at Jungkook.

Minjun, unlike Sid and Jude, had actually been invited to join the band for drinks sometimes—although, by the end of the night, he was usually forced to babysit Jungkook.

“What about it?” Jungkook shot back. “I can hold my liquor.”

Jimin blew the air out through his mouth, almost spitting as he half-wheezed, half-scoffed.

“You literally cannot,” he said. “Remember that time in Chicago when you, me, and Seokjin spent hours searching for a public bathroom after you finished five bottles of—”

“I told you I could have used the one that was closed!” Jungkook interrupted before Jimin could finish.

“It wasn’t closed. It was chained,” Jimin retorted. “Did you want to get arrested for trespassing and public urination?”

Jungkook rolled his eyes. “Who says I would have gotten arrested?”

“Are you kidding?” Seokjin chimed in. “You were shouting the lyrics to Billy Idol’s “Rebel Yell” as you rattled the chains.”

“That doesn’t—”

“In the midnight hour,” Seokjin demonstrated, shouting over the noise in the room and vigorously shaking his hands, “she cried more, more, more.”

Everyone was laughing so passionately at this point that it was impossible to hear the music in the room.

“Fine, fine,” Jungkook muttered, shuffling on his feet and moving partially behind you—his refuge from the teasing. “I get it.”

You didn’t know about this particular incident, but you remembered feeling relieved whenever Jungkook would leave the venue with the band members or someone from the staff, rather than his friends.

Sid had been omnipresent during the band’s first tour; he’d stayed even when Minjun and Jude had to return home. And during the only week that Sid wasn’t here, you’d had one of the most meaningful conversations with Jungkook—and certainly the longest—since your breakup.

It had been in Los Angeles, were Rated Riot were set to perform three shows that week. One night, you had found him alone, seated on one of the road cases outside the concert hall, a bottle of beer in his hand. You’d called his name, and he looked up at you with a gaze so familiar that you seemed to forget about all the months you had spent avoiding direct conversation with each other.

You’d been looking for him that night because you suspected that something was wrong—you didn’t know about his grandmother yet, but it was her condition that bothered him the most in those days.

“I’m fine,” he’d said after you asked him what was going on. “Just tired.”

So, you sat beside him on the road case, grabbed his bottle, and took a long swig. And he had watched you, completely mesmerised, just as he was watching you now.

That night, as you handed the bottle back to him, you’d asked him about his goals and what he wanted to achieve with the band.

“The whole world,” he had replied. And you’d smiled, making him smile, too. Your reaction convinced him that reaching the whole world was a completely feasible goal.

He hadn’t dared to ask why you’d agreed to work with Rated Riot, although you’d expected him to. Instead, he asked about your family, evading questions about his own. He asked how you’d met Luna, where you’d gotten the scar on your knee. He tried—you could see it now—to fill in the gaps of all the years you’d been out of touch.

And you remembered struggling to fall asleep that night in Los Angeles after you and Jungkook returned to the tour bus—because you’d finished that bottle of beer together. Because he’d given you his jacket as you walked back to the bus, even though it wasn’t very cold and the bus wasn’t parked very far. Because your hands had brushed as you walked side-by-side. Because he’d offered you a cigarette and you had declined, and your heart had started to hurt for seemingly no reason.

A year later, you raised your head, bringing your thoughts back to the present moment in the dark red dressing room of Cabaret Sauvage in Paris, where your family was laughing around you and your heart was beating next to you.

You turned to look at Jungkook and met his smiling gaze. He still stood behind you and, quietly, while everyone else continued their conversation, he lifted your linked hands to his lips and pressed a soft kiss on your knuckles.

“I remember when Taehyung had the flu, too,” Hoseok said, returning your attention to the group as they burst into shouts of agreement again. Jungkook wrapped an arm around your waist, bringing your back to his chest, and took another sip from his bottle.

“When he started to walk in his sleep?” Luna asked—she’d taken the brunt of that time her boyfriend was sick and refused to stay in bed. Everyone else was very grateful they didn’t have to handle his fevered tantrums.

“Yeah—he scared the shit out of me,” Yoongi recalled, shaking his head. “It was like four in the morning, I looked up from my bunk, and he was just standing there, staring right at me. I went, ‘what the fuck?’ and he just said, ‘the pipes broke’, then turned around and walked away.”

Amidst the laughter of the group, Jimin wheezed, “what pipes?”

Taehyung clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“I had a fever,” he said. “And it was nowhere near as bad or annoying as Jin actually stealing all of our socks from the bus back in Atlanta.”

Seokjin was opening his next beer bottle and did not feel fazed by the attention at all.

“You stole their socks?” Maggie voiced the question of the group.

“Now, listen,” Seokjin said, his tone relaxed, if only a little annoyed to be bothered about this. “We had a deal. I told the guys to stop after one encore, but they went on to play three. I need to sleep, you know. Can’t stay up dismantling the stage until six in the morning every night.”

You closed your eyes and leaned back into Jungkook’s embrace, calm and unreasonably content as he gently rocked side-to-side, both of his arms around you.

“Okay, I guess that makes sense,” Maggie replied. “But why socks?”

“I thought it’d be the biggest nuisance,” Seokjin explained simply. You smiled. The band members had come to you back then, complaining about someone messing with their belongings, and you had to buy socks in bulk until Seokjin returned them. “I was going to go for underwear, but I know that some of you don’t mind not wearing any, so socks seemed like a safer option.”

You opened your eyes to catch Seokjin giving Jungkook a meaningful glance over your head.

“I—” Jungkook began, but did not get much further than that.

“What?” Namjoon asked with a groan. You turned to see his nose wrinkled in blatant disgust. “Please tell me you’re all wearing underwear under your stage outfits right now.”

Yoongi, Taehyung, and Hoseok all shrugged and gave nods with varying degrees of conviction. Jungkook, meanwhile, snorted indignantly.

“No,” he said. “I prefer to wear mine over my stage outfit.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes at the unnecessary wit, but Seokjin was quick to down his beer and begin sparring.

“Is that your new costume?” he taunted. “Would fit well with the pirate eye patch.”

Jungkook inhaled sharply. “We do not speak of the eye patch.”

“Aye, sir,” Seokjin replied, grinning as he exaggerated his Rs. “We wor-rrr-ship the eye patch.”

Jimin’s laughter erupted in hiccupping waves that sounded oddly like a screeching cat in heat, and it was unnaturally infectious. He turned away to catch his breath, but you and Maggie had already succumbed to fits of giggles.

Jungkook, irked that this amused you so much, tightened his grip on your waist. You craned your neck to look at him upside down, traces of laughter still evident in your expression, and he placed a quick kiss on your forehead before turning back to his friends. You lowered your head, flustered by his abrupt affection—and Jungkook felt very happy again.

“No, no,” Namjoon was saying in between waves of laughter, “what we really worship is the mythical ramen Taehyung had promised to make us for dinner every night, but I’ve only tried it once so far. What’s that about? Did you think we would forget?”

Taehyung straightened and looked at Luna for help. She only smiled and shrugged, knowing better than to interfere with the band and their food.

“I never said I’d make it every night,” he replied, although somewhere at the back of his mind he vaguely recalled promising this very thing.

“You lost the bet,” Seokjin reminded him, “so you have no choice. You owe us five pots at this point, probably.”

You raised your eyebrows, but Luna beat you to the question. “There was a bet?”

“Of course,” Seokjin said, pausing to take another swig from his bottle. “There usually is.”

“What did you bet on?” she asked.

“This was in Oslo. All three of you,” he gestured towards you, Maggie, and Luna, “had gone out. We bet that Taehyung couldn’t go one hour without texting his girlfriend.”

You grinned while Yoongi gave Taehyung a comforting pat on the back. Jimin finally turned back around to face the group, and even Minjun had to bite back his laughter at the sight of Jimin’s wet eyes, tears of laughter still visible on his cheeks.

“I lasted ten and a half minutes,” Taehyung gloated—as though this was the best he could do, and this record was already so incredibly impressive that he wouldn’t even attempt beating it. Luna kissed his cheek, further encouraging his smugness.

“Ten and twenty-five,” Jimin, who had kept the time, corrected him, rubbing his fingers over his eyelids. “You were terrible. Complained the whole time.”

Taehyung grimaced but resisted the urge to stick out his tongue. “I’m nowhere near as bad as Jungkook, though.”

Jungkook blinked, caught by surprise again.

“What?” he asked, growing defensive once he understood the accusation. “I would have easily lasted an hour without texting my girlfriend.”

Just as you lowered your gaze to control your expression—you’d known Jungkook for seven years; surely, you would stop shivering at the sound of your relationship status some time soon—Hoseok reached over to press a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder.

“My friend,” he said, bowing his head, “you wouldn’t have lasted two minutes.”

The group launched into a series of examples to support Hoseok’s claim—with Minjun taking the lead, of course—and Jungkook couldn’t keep up with the barrage of playful accusations. They were correct, each and every one of them, but he still felt the need to explain himself.

“Alright, come on, leave him be,” you ended up interjecting, your tone light. You reached up, blindly finding Jungkook’s face behind you and gently patting his cheek. “We’re all very dependent on each other here anyway.”

Jungkook closed his eyes to focus on your touch. He felt pride first and foremost, but he also felt stunned that you’d defend him so openly: you were surrounded by your closest friends here, that was true, but they were also your co-workers. Yet you stood up for him and leaned into his embrace as the cheerful conversation continued around you.

He thought he’d finally done it. He reached the goal he’d once told you about – he had the whole world right here.

“You know, speaking of you two,” Seokjin said, swivelling to face you. “I know you drank my champagne in Amsterdam.”

Surprised, you pulled back from Jungkook and instinctively glanced at Hoseok—who had dragged Minjun away to help him bring the group more drinks.

“That was Hobi’s,” you said, remembering Hoseok’s party and the puddle of champagne on the bathroom floor—immortalised in Rated Riot’s upcoming single—after you and Jungkook discovered the hidden bottles and decided to have some.

“Please.” Seokjin scoffed. “You think he would hoard champagne? It was mine. And you two—”

“We only drank one bottle,” Jungkook interrupted, preemptively stopping you from denying the whole incident.

“Only on—you drank at least two,” Seokjin said, his unsteady legs wobbling slightly. You wondered how many bottles of beer he’d finished tonight—the extraordinary focus he was paying to enunciate every word indicated double digits. “That was my special champagne.”

He seemed to believe he was merely tipsy as he continued to watch the two of you with a look that he must have assumed was stern. Really, it was cloudy and obviously out of focus.

“What makes it special?” Jungkook asked.

“It was mine,” Seokjin replied, banging his palm against his chest a few times. You waited for him to elaborate on what he would have done with six bottles of champagne all by himself, but he decided he’d said enough.

“We’ll pay off the debt,” you offered. “Two bottles?”

“Two,” he confirmed, then cleared his throat. “But since I’ve had to wait so long for you to admit your wrongdoings, I’ve suffered emotional damage, too.”

“Ah, emotional damage, of course,” you repeated, exchanging a smile with Jungkook. Even drunk, Seokjin was an expert negotiator. “Two and a half, then?”

He pretended to consider it. Everyone else in the room had started a conversation about Yoongi’s sleeping habits—particularly how he stayed awake for three days straight and then slept for a whole week—and it distracted him for a second.

“Three,” Seokjin finally decided, “and we’ll call it even.”

“Alright, three bottles,” you agreed, turning to Jungkook again. He gave you a nod and unfastened himself from you, taking your hand instead.

“We’ll go out to get them right now,” Jungkook said, leading you to the door of the dressing room.

Seokjin seemed surprised when you gave him a quick wave.

“No, you—” he began, then hiccupped and shook his head at the interruption, “—you don’t have to go now.”

“But we must,” you said, pouting your lips very empathetically. “Can’t let you suffer because of what we’d done any longer.”

Seokjin looked as if he wanted to respond, but his intoxicated mind was too sluggish. Still, you saw the hint of a grin tugging at his lips as the door of the room closed behind you; Seokjin knew exactly why you were so eager to leave. It was how you’d found his champagne back in Amsterdam: the two of you would take any and every opportunity to be alone together.

And so, you and Jungkook found yourselves alone on the dark streets of Paris, walking around the park that surrounded the venue, supposedly on a mission to find three bottles of champagne.

It became apparent rather quickly that you’d have to walk quite a distance from the venue to find a shop that was still open. You did not mind that.

Jungkook glanced up as he walked, and you followed his gaze to the sky. In the quiet corners of the cobblestone alleys, right between the streetlights, you could see the stars.

You’d seen these stars before, almost a month ago, when you went to Kihyun and Chloé’s wedding. You’d taken a detour because Jungkook wanted to show you the Champs-Élysées, and you remembered that night in explicit detail: the way the curls in his hair had looked, damp from the rain. The way his eyes had sparkled with an innate, undying excitement, playfully reflecting every street light around you. You remembered the feel of his hands when he instinctively touched you to guide you across the street. You remembered the scent of his cologne as he gestured wildly, recounting the stories about Paris that his grandmother had read to him when he was younger. His voice had sounded wistful, yearning.

The stars had looked beautiful back then—they had to. Really, you didn’t have many chances to look up at them. Jungkook had been right beside you, smiling, with gentle creases of delight by his eyes, and you didn’t even consider looking away.

The sky glittered with the same lights now, a never changing, constant presence over you. And again, you lowered your eyes to watch the reflection of the stars in his eyes instead. The night sky was no longer your favourite thing in the world.

“I think,” Jungkook said, “this is what my grandma meant when she said that she’s always wanted to visit Paris.”

You looked at the street ahead of you. It was hidden from the main paths of the park by dark, menacing buildings, and it looked like just about any other street in the world.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“She wanted this,” he explained, raising your intertwined hands. “What we have right now. Strolling through these back alleys, forcing every streetlight to flicker and every gust of wind to change direction.”

You felt everything he’d mentioned in your chest—the silence of the alleys, the flickers of the lights, the gusts of the shifting wind—and you held his hand tighter.

“What does Paris have to do with this?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “It doesn’t have to do anything, it’s just there for us to walk through it. But this isn’t really about Paris. It never is.”

You looked down at the pavement in a poor attempt to hide your smile. He could still see it. If you were smiling, he’d always make sure to see it.

“That would sound far more romantic,” you said, “if I hadn’t just seen a dead rat across the street.”

Jungkook threw his head back in sudden laughter. He’d seen the rat, too, but he didn’t want to say anything. You had just looked up at the stars in the sky; he thought it’d spoil the moment.

“I know,” he said. “This is why I said that Paris is overrated. I’m just trying to make it sound better.”

“It’s still beautiful despite these things, though,” you said as the two of you took a turn past the canal that ran across the park. The dark water reflected the dim lights of the streets and the persistent stars, too. “Despite the dead rats and unbelievable amounts of garbage everywhere.”

“Yeah?” Jungkook could not control the size of his smile or the sounds in his chest. “You think so?”

“Mhmm,” you said. “These things happen sometimes, I guess. You care about something so much that not even dead rats can ruin it.”

You’d clearly stopped talking about Paris, and he had to turn away from the look in your eyes before he accidentally led you right into the canal. The two of you turned a corner instead, leaving the reflections in the water behind you as you entered another sleeping street, the cobblestones stirring awake under your feet.

Squeezing your hand as he walked, Jungkook looked up at the numerous wrought-iron balconies on the building to your right and felt, for just a moment, as though the faint lights in the windows were watching the two of you. He hoped they were. He loved you so much that he wanted everyone to see.

“I think it’s a metaphor,” he said.

You turned to him. “What is?”

“The dead rat.”

That wouldn’t have been your choice of words to describe the rat, and you continued to watch him, bemused. “It’s a metaphor?”

“Yeah,” he said. “For a new beginning.”

You looked down to avoid twisting your ankles on the uneven street stones.

“I assume the dead rat represents Sid’s demise, then,” you said.

“Precisely,” Jungkook replied, and you turned another corner in the labyrinth of Parisian streets.

“I’ll take it,” you said. Then, nearly laughing, you nodded your head at the shadows ahead of you. “I think I see another one.”

He turned his head and squinted.

“Shit,” he murmured, spotting a pair of panicked, beady eyes. “That one looks alive. Maybe we should cross the—”

“Oh,” you pulled his hand to gesture at the rodent ahead, “you don’t want to say hi to Sid’s uncle?”

“That’s his cousin, I think.”

Laughing—nearly hysterically—the two of you crossed to the other side of the street. Another turn led you back to the canal, right on the edge of a bridge stairway. The massive abutment on this side of the canal and the wall of a parking lot next to it were decorated with years and years of graffiti history, and the two of you stopped momentarily to catch your breath and to analyse the art.

Most of the tags here had something unique about them—lizard tongues spewing out of the Os, crazy-eyed devils holding the letters. You noticed a few love declarations, too, when you leaned in closer. And you wondered, as you smiled at the hearts drawn around unfamiliar names on the grey bricks, if the initials you’d burnt into the library wall on your campus were still there.

“Smells like shit here, too, actually,” Jungkook remarked, breaking the spell.

You laughed again, pulling back from the wall.

“That’s good,” you said, returning to him so that you could continue down the road, curving slightly under the bridge. “Means it’s seen things.”

“It’s seen shit.”

You glanced at him, grinning. “So have we.”

“That’s true,” he said. Then, as soon as you emerged from under the bridge, he stopped and looked at you, his eyes slightly widened. “Hey, maybe all of this means that we were really meant to be here. You and me.”

The sudden epiphany he seemed to have had confused you. You looked around at the buildings towering on each side of the canal and the loose bags of trash flowing in the wind, scattering empty soda cans across the pavement.

This night did not seem special in any way, but Jungkook was looking at you like it was, and it took one glance at the hopeful smile on his lips for you to believe in the magic, too.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Maybe we were.”

He was smiling at you—for you, really—and you knew that you would forget everything about your trip to Paris again: all the sights, the people, the concerts, and the drinks. Instead, you’d remember the way he was looking at you right now—and that was all that you really wanted to remember anyway.

During this tour, there were many moments where you felt like you were dreaming. You convinced yourself that what happened couldn’t have been real because it simply shouldn’t have been.

You and Jungkook had taken so many left turns where the only way was right. You’d caused childish problems and faced unnecessary challenges. It was practically impossible for you to still find each other at the end of the day.

But you were awake. And however impossible or unlikely it was, you’ve found each other.

It had been raining the last time you were in Paris, but the sky was clear tonight, and now you and Jungkook could walk down these streets, laughing and swaying your hands, and no longer lying to yourselves.

The truth was, your souls, like your hands, had always been intertwined—even when you tried to pretend they weren’t.

FIN.

chapter title credits: sleeping with sirens, “if i’m james dean, you’re audrey hepburn”

we're done, friends! 🥹 if you have read so far, i truly love you more than words can describe 🤍

if i had to explain what my life was like while i was writing this fic, it would turn into an ao3 author's note that's like "hey guys, sorry i didn't update, i was in prison" so i'm very grateful to have received your feedback and support over the past few months 🤍🤍

hopefully there will be more things i can share with you in the future, but for now, thank you and good night 🤍

prev ○ END.

[kageyomomma]

little black dress - iwaizumi x reader

summary: inspired by this textpost

listen ik i said i was working on a kuroo piece but this idea came to me at literally 3am the night after i finished my rewatch of season 2 and i wrote it in my notes app while i was half asleep (& i did not proof it lol)

hope y'all don't hate it!

Friday afternoon always seemed to drag on at work. There was nothing left on your task list, so you had resorted to gossiping with your coworkers to pass the time. You had just let out a gasp at something one of them had said, when your phone lit up with a notification. The message was from your boyfriend, Hajime.

hajime <3:

Hey babe, do we have any plans tonight?

you:

not that i know of, did you have something in mind?

hajime <3:

Well, Oikawa just called me. Apparently he is in town for a few days and asked if we wanted to go out for drinks tonight.

you:

aw yeah that sounds fun! i always love getting to see tooru

hajime <3:

Alright, I'll try to find out the plan. See you at home beautiful.

You smiled at your phone and returned your attention to your coworkers.

"Everything okay over there?" One of them asked you, noticing that you had momentarily checked out of the conversation.

"Yeah that was my boyfriend, he said his old friend is in town and asked if we wanted to go out with him tonight."

"Ohhhhh!" Your other coworker exclaimed, "(Y/N) this is this perfect chance to wear that dress you showed us last week!"

You bit your finger nail as you recalled the little black dress that you impulsively bought last week. You had tried it on when it came in, and it looked fantastic on you, but it was also very short. Iwaizumi was not an overly controlling boyfriend, but you also wanted to respect him and your relationship. You smiled and nodded at your coworker, but did not say anything as you thought about the dress hanging in your closet.

After work you headed straight home, still feeling conflicted about your outfit for the evening. Iwaizumi was already home when you arrived. He greeted you with a hug and a kiss on the forehead.

"Oikawa said he would meet us at 8 o'clock at that nice place downtown, you know how boujee he is," Iwaizumi said with a huff of laughter.

"I better start getting ready then."

About an hour later you were standing in your closet in a towel staring at the racks of clothes. Your eyes kept drifting back to the black dress that your coworker mentioned earlier.

'Fuck it' you thought as you grabbed it and went to finish getting ready.

7:30 rolls around and you are looking in the mirror to make sure everything is in place. Your hair is sitting perfectly, framing your face with soft curls. The bold-ish make up look that you went with looked immaculate, and your red lipstick paired beautifully with the little black dress. Iwaizumi walked in as you were strapping on your heels.

"Babe are you ready to g-" he started, but stopped in his tracks as he saw you. "Wow, you look absolutely incredible."

You stood up and offered him a small smile, "Are you sure this dress isn't too much? I feel like this dress is too short, and it's kinda low cut, I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea."

Iwaizumi scoffed and flexed his arms, carefully examining each of his biceps. His attention turned back to you, and he grabbed your waist, pulling you into him. He leaned toward your face until his lips were only a breath away and said, "wear whatever you want babe, I can fight."

bonus:

When you and Iwaizumi arrived 15 minutes late to meet Oikawa, it didn't take long for him to notice the red lipstick peeking out from under the collar of his friends shirt.

[forgotteneilionora]

OOC | Astairan Wedding Traditions

ok so this is inspired by [ this ] post and these tags:

#ooo.... is handfasting a tradition in astairan weddings?#bc i could see#valentina malconaire objecting to this!#and then astairans not considering the eithne/cassimir union#as valid since it didn't happen#also its just a pretty tradition i love!

i loooove this!!!! both for the tradition and for the ~general vibes for astaira andddd for the plot point it could play!!!!! and i thought we might take this opportunity to talk about weddings in general -- i was literally reading up on traditional irish wedding vows just last night bc we were talking about domhnall's wedding etc!

i can also 100% see @forgottenvalentina specifically objecting to a tradition the astairans hold dear on ~roderick grounds or vice versa specificially w the hope itd invalidate the wedding too smdh so this verrrrrry much fits!

also the wedding vows:

[ “Ye are Blood of my Blood, and Bone of my Bone. I give ye my Body, that we Two might be One. I give ye my Spirit, `til our Life shall be Done. You cannot possess me for I belong to myself. But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give You cannot command me, for I am a free person. But I shall serve you in those ways you require and the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand." ] “I vow you the first cut of my meat, the first sip of my wine, from this day it shall only your name I cry out in the night and into your eyes that I smile each morning; I shall be a shield for your back as you are for mine, never shall a grievous word be spoken about us, for our marriage is sacred between us and no stranger shall hear my grievance. Above and beyond this, I will cherish and honor you through this life and into the next." “I, (name), in the name of the spirit of God that resides within us all, by the life that courses within my blood and the love that resides within my heart, take thee (name) to my hand, my heart, and my spirit, to be my chosen one. To desire thee and be desired by thee, to possess thee, and be possessed by thee, without sin or shame, for naught can exist in the purity of my love for thee. I promise to love thee wholly and completely without restraint, in sickness and in health, in plenty and in poverty, in life and beyond, where we shall meet, remember, and love again. I shall not seek to change thee in any way. I shall respect thee, thy beliefs, thy people, and thy ways as I respect myself. By the power that Christ brought from heaven, mayst thou love me. As the sun follows its course, mayst thou follow me. As light to the eye, as bread to the hungry, as joy to the heart, May thy presence be with me, Oh one that I love, `til death comes to part us asunder. “We swear by peace and love to stand, Heart to heart and hand to hand. Mark, O Spirit, and hear us now, Confirming this our Sacred Vow.” “You are the star of each night, You are the brightness of every morning, You are the story of each guest, You are the report of every land. No evil shall befall you, on hill nor bank, In field or valley, on mountain or in glen. Neither above, nor below, neither in sea, Nor on shore, in skies above, Nor in the depths. You are the kernel of my heart, You are the face of my sun, You are the harp of my music, You are the crown of my company.” “Don't walk in front of me, I may not follow. Don't walk behind me, I may not lead. Walk beside me and just be my friend.” “May the gentle breeze bear witness to this ritual, and carry its message to all lands. May the sun warm their hearts, and its ever burning fire fuel their desire for each other. May the water provide for them from its bounty, and comfort their souls with their sounds. May the land lend its strength and reveal its mysteries."

and like literally swearing by the breeze and the sun and water and land like????? if that aint so astairan!!!!!! there's def tons of other stuff but yeah

also apparently irish brides traditionally wore blue, back in the day, that were long and flowy w intricate embroidery, celtic knots, and a big sash or belt! often including a hooded cloak in weather!

she also traditionally has a handkerchief embroidered w like a motto or the couple's initials or an emblem or smth of significance to them, and then that's used as the bonnet for the firstborn child at their christening, and handed down to them to potentially use at their own wedding etc generation after generation

also the handfasting probs means that 'tying the knot' is an expression in astaira (that would baffle the varmonts too btw!) which is fun <3

[ Ever heard the phrase “your goose is cooked”? ] Traditionally, the night before the wedding, a goose would be cooked in the bride’s house for the groom’s wedding meal. When the meal was fully prepared, it would be seen as bad luck for life to back out of the wedding. So, the phrase, “your goose is cooked” pretty much means there’s no backing out now!

there's this thing w the child of progue that might be done w statues of the guardians?

[ This is a funny Irish wedding tradition. The child of Prague is a statue popularly known to ward off bad weather, which can rue the day. The figure is placed in different ways but performs the same function. ] Some parents leave their children in their hallway the night before a wedding. Others abandon their children outside, while some put the child out under a bush. In addition, people tend to behead the statue before placing it at the selected spot. The rationale is that the figures are not of the best quality. Their head usually fell off by themselves when left out overnight; hence, it was better off already beheaded. Some people even reattach it afterward.

guests have bells to ring ward off evil spirits and discord! they set to ringing them as the couple walks down the aisle and bells are sometimes included in the bride's bouquet

Weddings were civil, not religious, affairs. While some involved a vow of lifelong fidelity, that wasn’t universal. The ancient Celts recognized several types of marriage. And they also had very liberal divorce laws. They knew not all marriages would last, and they planned for it. In ancient Celtic traditions, one could opt for a one-year trial marriage. If all went well, they could take more permanent vows. If it didn’t work out, they each went their way, free to try again. Men and women enjoyed equal rights in the 1100s. Irish brides owned their property; if the marriage ended, they took it with them. They would also take a portion of any wealth the couple acquired together.

so yeah obv there's lots more these were just some things that jumped out at me after a cursory review that felt astairan for one reason or another <3

[lemoncrushh]

Connect

Summary: Not wanting to lose their connection, Lily takes a surprise trip to see Harry.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: Real Harry x OC, written in first person. This is the last of my writings from 2019 (technically the first one since I'm reposting backwards). Obviously, this was heavily based on Live on Tour. I think I was just testing the waters then after having taken a break from fics. The only thing I focused on in 2018 was a longer fic which will come later. So next, I'll be reposting the one shots from 2017.

“I miss you,” he said, his voice raspy and weary.

“I miss you, too.”

“I wish you were here with me,” said Harry. “I know you didn’t wanna be, cause it’s crazy, but-”

“I never said I didn’t wanna be,” I interrupted.

“Well, you can’t. And I get it.”

With a sigh, I rolled over onto my stomach as I gnawed on the inside of my cheek. The truth was, I wanted to be with him more than anything. I just felt like it was too soon. We’d only started dating a few months before he left for the tour. Things had been such a whirlwind then, that it was a wonder we’d managed to actually become a thing. I’d worried that we’d moved too fast, and when Harry had asked me to consider flying out for some of the shows, I’d hesitated. In the end, I’d told him I couldn’t do anything on short notice since I didn’t have vacation time yet and my job was still relatively new. But I promised I would make plans to be with him for his final show in Los Angeles. He’d said he understood, but each time we talked on the phone, he seemed to miss me more and more. It broke my heart to say the least.

“I just don’t think I can-“

“Lily,” he interrupted this time. “It’s okay. Let’s change the subject.”

That night when I went to bed, I thought about our conversation. Though the rest of it had been sweet and light-hearted, I had felt the weight of Harry’s tone. He wasn’t mad, or even upset, but I could tell he was having a hard time concealing his emotions.

Throwing the covers off of me, I hopped out of bed and grabbed my laptop. Like the word nerd I was, I googled.

Emotion. Noun. A natural instinctive state of mind deriving from one's circumstances, mood, or relationships with others.

Relationship. Noun. The way in which two or more concepts, objects, or people are connected, or the state of being connected.

Harry and I were connected. I knew it from the moment we met. Not to sound cheesy, like it was some grand scene of kismet in a rom com, but I’d felt something that first day.

Literally, it had been my first day at my new job. After years of trying to be a writer and applying for any kind of position that was remotely associated with writing, taking jobs as a receptionist at a local fluff newspaper and a data entry operator in the accounting department of a publishing company, and even working behind the counter at a bookstore, I’d finally landed my dream job. Well, not so much dream as it was...how shall I put this...the bottom of the totem pole at a company I wanted to work for. Everyone’s gotta start somewhere, right? So what if I was pouring coffee and scheduling meetings and *cough* picking up dry cleaning? I was working for an amazing magazine. No, I wasn’t writing anything yet, but I was finally getting somewhere!

The stars must have been aligned that day. Being the “new girl”, I was led around the office by my boss as she introduced me to everyone. We’d just made it past the editing department when Candace, my boss, lifted her cell to her ear with a frown.

I didn’t understand the conversation, especially with only hearing one side of it, but I certainly caught the words “Harry Styles” and “lunch interview” followed by a few expletives. My breath stilled, and I’m pretty sure my heart did too. Trying to act casual as Candace returned her phone to her pocket, I blinked several times and shifted the weight between my feet.

“Lily,” she turned to me. “I know it’s your first day and you barely know your way around here, but I need a favor.”

I nodded. “Of course.”

Her expression relaxed as she gave a gentle smile. “Congratulations. You get the opportunity no one else has ever gotten on their first day.”

I wasn’t sure why I’d agreed to it, other than the fact that I’d wanted this job more than anything, and impressing Candace was my top priority. But to say I was a nervous wreck as I rode next to her in her BMW to a restaurant so luxurious I’d only ever dreamed of dining there, was an understatement. Apparently Candace’s head writer had gotten into an accident on the freeway that morning and was unable to get to the interview on time. That meant either sending someone else to have lunch with Harry Styles or going herself. Deciding quickly on the latter, and because it was my first day as her personal assistant, I got to tag along, notebook in hand. Well, not exactly in hand. It was in my bag. But you get the idea.

I hadn’t really known what to expect, both in meeting Harry and in getting to eat lunch at this particular restaurant, but within ten minutes I got the answers. The restaurant, while swanky with a limited menu, still felt like any other restaurant I’d been to, albeit upscale. Cloth napkins, iced water in big glasses that looked like they were more for wine or brandy, and tinkly piano music to complete the ambience. And as for Harry Styles...well let’s just say, he was the coolest person I’d ever met. And I don’t mean cool as in too cool for me, or too cool for school. I mean he was so completely down-to-earth that I immediately felt at ease. Sure, my insides were a mess, my heart beating out of my chest and my stomach doing somersaults, but despite that, he didn’t come off as a “celebrity”. He was charming and funny and easy to talk to. And because I was Candace’s assistant, you would think he’d only direct his answers to her. But he looked over at me several times with a sexy, easy grin and made sure he included me in the conversation.

Once Candace got up to take another phone call, and I was left alone with Harry. Afraid I might say or do something stupid, I looked at the notes I had written down. Candace of course had recorded the conversation on her phone with Harry’s permission, so I wasn’t quite sure why she’d had me take notes too. But such is the job of an assistant, I presumed.

After a moment or two of silence, Harry said something, though it took me a second to realize he was addressing me.

“Sorry?” I looked up from my scribbles.

“Is the interview done?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.

“Um...I don’t think so,” I stumbled.

“Then why are you looking at that? I’m right here.”

My heart plummeted to my stomach, and I thought I might vomit the salad I’d just eaten.

“Sorry,” I mumbled as I shoved my notebook into my bag, my face no doubt red from embarrassment. I wanted to crawl under the table...on the other side of the restaurant.

Suddenly Harry laughed. A good, hearty laugh. I looked up at him to see the little crinkles next to his eyes as he chuckled, dimples dipping in his cheeks.

“Loosen up, Lily,” he said.

It took me a second, and a shake of my head, to remember that he knew my name. But the fact that he’d remembered it after only learning it once briefly when Candace had introduced me was another thing entirely. And...was he teasing me?

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“I’m just giving you a hard time. You seem very nervous.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he smiled. Then he gestured toward where Candace had walked off. “Is she hard to work for?”

I relaxed, exhaling and placing my hands in front of me. “Truth?”

“Of course.”

“It’s my first day.”

A grin spread across Harry’s handsome face. Just then Candace emerged from the hallway headed back to our table. Harry quickly and simply leaned over towards me, covering my hand with his.

“You’re doing great,” he whispered.

And that’s when I knew.

Okay, it’s not when I knew we were meant to be together or would fall in love or any of that. But I felt connected. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but it was something.

I hadn’t gotten another assignment quite like that one again. At least not yet. Most of my job consisted of running errands and getting coffee, although I did get to see and greet a few celebrities here and there. But when Harry’s interview was printed, I received a bouquet of flowers. Lilies.

Harry and I laughed about it for days after he called to ask me out. We both agreed it was cheesy, but he admitted he liked the cheese. I’d fallen for it, after all. Sucker.

Emotion. Noun. A natural instinctive state of mind deriving from one's circumstances, mood, or relationships with others.

I stared at the screen, reciting the definition over and over. Harry and I were in a relationship. He was far away and it would be a long time before he returned. How could I not feel any emotion about it? How could I not consider his feelings as well? How could I keep pretending I didn’t miss him more than anything? How could I possibly keep this amazing relationship alive if I wasn’t willing to try to put more effort in re-establishing our connection?

Connect. Verb. Bring together or into contact so that a real or notional link is established.

Indeed.

With one or two more clicks of the mouse, I found myself on an airline website. Then opening a second tab, I brought up another website and searched for Harry Styles tickets. Flipping between the two sites, I chose a concert on a Saturday and managed to find a decent price for a flight. I figured I could fly out on Friday and be back by Sunday. I wouldn’t even have to miss work. A few clicks later, and I’d made my purchases. I was going to see Harry.

It had been a while since I’d been to a concert. Despite being a huge fan of music and having my own list of favorites, I hadn’t been inside an arena in at least a few years. My ears were already ringing from the noises around me, fans eager for Harry to take the stage.

I had a seat near the B stage. I hadn’t known what that meant until I’d bought my ticket and began to watch fan videos on YouTube. During the middle of the show, Harry stepped off the main stage and walked the gauntlet so to speak, screaming fans on either side, and made his way to a second smaller stage near the back of the arena where he performed a few songs acoustically. I’d watched several videos so far, and this was probably my favorite part of the show. It seemed so intimate, like Harry was giving his audience a special little piece of himself. Sometimes he’d throw in a little banter which made me giggle and remind me why I liked him so much.

I’d also seen fans giving him flowers. I thought that might be a little presumptuous and perhaps even ridiculous, not because he didn’t deserve them, but because...what if he didn’t take them? Or what if they got crushed in all the excitement? The poor girl spent her money on a bouquet for nothing. But I reckoned I’d take my chance. And if nothing else, we’d have a laugh over it later.

No, Harry didn’t know I was coming. It was a surprise. We’d even talked on the phone the night before after I’d landed and was snug as a bug in my hotel bed. He hadn’t a clue.

When the lights went out, I immediately felt the excitement the rest of the arena did. I even laughed and hugged the girl next to me when she grabbed my arm and screamed in my ear.

Before the first song was over, one thing was certain. Watching Harry Styles on YouTube was not the same as watching him in person. You would think I wouldn’t be screaming and dancing with the rest of the crowd since I actually knew the guy personally, let alone had the privilege of dating him. But holy cow, was I a fangirl! It was like watching Mick Jagger, Freddie Mercury and some cool indie rocker all rolled into one. I was so mesmerized and lost in every single song that I almost forgot about him coming to the B stage. Until it happened.

I’d laid my bouquet of lilies as gently as I could underneath my seat, hoping they didn’t get stomped on. I quickly retrieved them as soon as he took the steps down the main stage and waited for him to come closer. To be honest, up till this point, I suppose I had just assumed he would catch a glimpse of me, but I hadn’t considered anything further than that. My stomach started doing the flips as he climbed onto the small stage, and I saw him wave to the crowd. I didn’t want to make my presence obvious, but I did want him to know I was there. But his eyes grazed right over me and then he pulled his guitar strap over his head.

Disappointment ate at me as I felt my chest deflate. Nevertheless, Harry sang the first song beautifully, and it brought tears to my eyes. As he introduced the chords to the next song, teasing the audience a bit, I almost thought he saw me. But instead he tucked his guitar pick between his teeth and spread out his arms, making the crowd cheer loudly. The girl next to me began to jump up and down, making the ground tremble beneath my feet. I sort of wished she’d make enough noise for Harry to look our way, but he seemed to be taking it all in, letting the fans simmer in their excitement.

Finally, he began to sing. It was one of my favorite ballads where everyone with a cell phone brought it up to display their flashlights or bright screens. I sang along with him, wishing I could somehow channel my thoughts to him, make him look my way telepathically. Suddenly, during the breakdown after the bridge, his gaze met mine. It was kind of comical how his eyes widened as though he wasn’t sure he’d really seen me. I smiled, holding my lilies underneath my chin. Then he smiled too, one corner of his mouth sliding up further than the other. The crowd seemed to scream even louder, thinking his pause and smirk was somehow a reaction to them. I was perfectly fine with letting them think that. But I knew it was for me.

Harry finished the song, his audience singing in unison. Then he took me by surprise by setting down his guitar, walking to the edge of the stage, and reaching out. At first I wasn’t sure what was going on, but then someone nearby, a stagehand or someone from the soundboard, or maybe even Jeffrey Azoff, heck if I knew then, took the flowers from my hands and handed them to Harry. He smiled, inhaled deeply, smiled even wider, then blew me a kiss.

Everything after that happened so fast, it was a whirlwind. I think someone took the flowers back from Harry and put them somewhere. Then Harry sang one more song before heading back to the main stage. The cute girl next to me grabbed my arm again and squealed that he’d taken my flowers, and I was so freaking lucky, and that she was gonna do that next time, if she got to see him again. I giggled with her and squeezed her hand, then we watched the rest of the show in glee.

I hugged my new friend goodbye after the lights came back on, not really sure what to do next. Obviously I’d come to see Harry, not just his concert. But I didn’t know if I should stick around and wait for him, or go back to my hotel.

I opted for watching the crowd fizzle out as they sang and danced down the aisles towards the exits. I was just about to climb the steps myself and make my way to the restroom when my phone buzzed in my pocket.

Where are you?

I grinned, quickly texting him back.

Still in my seat.

I’ll send someone for you.

I wouldn’t have been surprised if I’d had to wait another half hour or so before someone came to retrieve me. Working somewhat in the entertainment industry - even for a few months - I was used to a lot of waiting. But it wasn’t barely five minutes before a man with a tight smile on his face came to greet me.

“Follow me,” he said simply.

The hallway backstage was brightly lit and smelled of sweat and cologne. It reminded me of a high school gym. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting as I’d seen many movies and documentaries about bands, but for some reason it wasn’t that. Still, I followed the man down the corridor to a closed door onto which he knocked. Someone must have given him the all clear and he pushed open the door and gestured for me to enter.

Now, the fangirl in me would have kicked myself for not first noticing the shirtless Harry Styles sitting in a chair by the mirror, but instead the bouquet of lilies displayed in a vase next to him. However, the girlfriend in me was all heart-eyed and flustered.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I heard him ask.

Blinking my eyes, I smiled at him, finally getting a good look at him. Weak knees. Heart palpitations. 9-1-1, people. How did I get so freaking lucky, as my new stranger friend would have said.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” I beamed.

“Well, mission accomplished,” he chuckled.

With the grace of a gazelle, Harry rose from his chair to stand in front of me. I’d almost forgotten how tall he was. Man, it had been too long.

“Truth is…” I cleared my throat. “I missed you.”

Harry said nothing, merely nodded, his eyes glowing as they seemed to memorize every curve of my face.

“And um…” I continued as he suddenly touched my arms, his hands cupping my elbows.

I momentarily lost my train of thought as Harry lowered his head and began to breathe on my neck. I felt goosebumps all over my flesh in an instant, and I instinctively lifted my hands to touch his chest.

“There’s an and?” he said low into my ear.

“Yeah,” I sighed. “But it’s not important.”

“Of course it is. Or you wouldn’t be here.”

He lifted his head again to look straight into my eyes.

“Tell me,” he said.

“I just...didn’t want to lose our connection,” I confessed. “I think we have something great. And I hope you do, too.”

Harry nodded, a soft smile on his lips. “I do.”

“I admit, it’s hard being apart from you,” I added, looking down at my hands that had somehow landed on either side of his butterfly tattoo. “But I’d be an idiot if I didn’t let you know how I feel.”

Harry pulled me to him then, and I felt him sigh.

“And how do you feel?” he asked.

“I just said.”

Harry laughed. “No, you didn’t.”

“I feel...emotional,” I side-stepped.

“That’s a bit redundant, darling.”

I bit my lip. He was gonna make me say it, wasn’t he? As much as I was a word nerd, that was one word I couldn’t just blurt out. Even though I definitely felt it. It just wasn’t easy for me.

“Well, how do you think I feel, Harry?  I mean, I just flew out here from L.A. to surprise you.”

“Oh, I dunno,” he teased. “Could’ve been for another reason, and I just happened to be here…”

“Harry!”

He threw his head back laughing before kissing me on the forehead. Then the nose. Then the mouth. The kiss deepened, and for a minute I thought perhaps his inquiring was over and we were just lost in each other. Then he stopped suddenly and whispered against my lips.

“I love you, too, Lily.”

If you enjoyed, please like, comment, reblog or send me a msg!

MASTERLIST | KO-FI | FEEDBACK

[queenpiranhadon]

A/N: Bahaha guess what guys I lied, this is gonna be nine chapters total lollll- I promise last time 😭 BIGGEST SHOUT OUT EVER TO @cashmoneyyysstuff for beta reading and being a huge influence on the story - girl's literally my idol go follow her 🤍 Here's the masterlist!

Warning(s): Cursing, reader is the daughter of Aizawa, Shinso and Eri are biological siblings, reader is 20 years old, Reader uses "Cattus" as her alias, reader's nicknames are Cactus, Cattus and Cat, war, reader gets hurt and burned alive (a lot), reader almost dies again, gore and blood, bad war descriptions lol what do you expect from me, reader is AFAB and female, ANGST, someone breaks into reader's house, Eri sleeps with reader bc she's traumatized, PTSD,

Pairing(s): Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴ: Warrior

How did the enemy know you were planning to ambush them? 

Your entire life, you always believed Fate would either provide you answers, or spur on more questions. 

Right now, you thought, it seemed to give you both. 

It was late at night when you woke up, heart pounding from some nightmare of which the details of seemed fuzzy now. It was silent, but instead of ambience, the lack of sound seemed eerie to you.  

You weren’t a stranger to this happening, random panic attacks and nightmares caused by underlying trauma that you refused to come to terms with.  

You tighten your arms around your younger sister, asleep, the girl insisted she sleep with you from now on in fear that you would leave again (though she didn’t want to admit that she just heavily missed your presence). You didn’t mind, and to be honest, your usual nightmares had been decreasing after the comfort of another human being by your side.  

Laying back down slowly, you brush off your paranoia, heart pounding and you feel the hairs along your skin rise along with a multitude of gooseflesh.  

Something wasn’t right.  

Siting up slowly, you rouse your sister to consciousness, sleepy red eyes blinking back at you in confusion. 

“Y/N...” Eri mumbled, disoriented, but you silence her.  

“Banana, go get Toshi and stay in Dad’s room.” You say, your tone low and firm.  

Her eyes widen in fear, but she nods, scurrying out of the room as quickly as she can.  

You sigh, your family would be safe if you could get rid of the nagging thought in the back of your mind.  

Creeping towards the door, you stop. You rub your abdomen, where the scar from your last battle resided. Tonight, you knew someone was about to get hurt. 

Suddenly, a loud crash reverberates through your home and the wooden door splinters from impact. 

Your eyes widen as a figure clad in black smashes into your home, two daggers unsheathed as he creeps towards you slowly and menacingly.  

The Inimicus insignia flashes in the moonlight and your heart sinks.  

They found you.

You curse under your breath, months to years of training now springing into action purely based on instinct, rolling out of the assailant’s attempt at stabbing you and using the opportunity to grab your sword that was hidden under the sofa. 

Just in case. 

Your family worried about you- saying that you were being too paranoid, your father the most worried of them all considering he felt the same pain you did. But he understood you needed an outlet for your anxieties- just as he released his, you learned, through training you when you were younger. 

He figured that if hiding weapons around the house would ease you a little bit, then it would be beneficial to have your worries about being attacked put at ease. 

Before - prior to any of this - you would’ve relished being right, the satisfaction of an ‘i told you so’

But oh, but you wished you were wrong right now.

You feel your body relax in the slightest when you hear the soft click the the back door closing- your family was at least out of the house. If there were even more assailants outside, your father could handle them alongside Hitoshi. 

But you couldn’t let your guard down, unsheathing your sword from its scabbard and adjusting your footing to maintain a low crouch. During your time training and fighting, you learned to develop your fighting style - yours in particular was more unorthodox compared to the usual ones your peers took on. Most soldiers preferred attacking the higher points of the body, maybe attempting decapitation or a fatal respiratory injury as a way to take down an opponent. 

You on the other hand, stuck closer to the ground, as to you, when it came to combat, balance was the most important. If you maintain yours, while depriving your opponent of their own, you would have a tremendous advantage as you have a clear opening to immobilize instead of eradicate. 

However, this was a different circumstance. 

This man had not only broken into your home, but posed a threat to your family. And for that, you knew your tactics would have you change up a little bit. 

You had most definitely improved after your tualia with Bakugou, and even after your first and upsettingly last battle as well having decided to train yourself under your father’s supervision the months after you came home. 

Your crouch turns from defensive to offensive, adjusting your stance and pushing off of the ground hooking your arm to the leg opposite of it and swinging it out to bring your elbow straight into his legs, forcing him to fall down as you pin them down with just your arm. 

Working quickly, your leg swings out to step on his abdomen, drawing your sword and placing the tip right next to his artery, under his ear. 

“How many of you are there?” you ask coldly, rage flowing through your veins as you press your sword deeper into his neck when he refuses to respond. 

Small beads of blood gather on the tip of your sword and your opponent panics, slowing bringing his hands up to show he means no harm, and removes his mask to reveal a shock of blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes.

You deadpan. What was it with blonde boys in your life?

“P-Please don’t kill me..!” he whimpers, tears pouring down his face (a very punchable face, for the record).

Already? You barely scratched him, you think to yourself, slightly disappointed that it was this easy.

“How. many. of. you. are. there.” you say, lowly, enunciating your words as if it could hammer the meaning into this idiot’s brain. 

“F-Forty s-seven.” he sobs, and your eyes widen.

Your heart sinks. Forty seven men?! Your village didn’t even have the numbers for that many soldiers… how were you going to get everyone out of this alive. 

“Look…” you trail off, realizing you didn’t know the man’s name. 

Then again did you really want to? Knowing his name made him seem more humane, more…like you. Suddenly, the man underneath your feet turning into the man you killed in the Chiara Forest, your heart rate spiking and overwhelming guilt clawing at your brain. 

Shit.

 Your opponent doesn’t know your panic though, and shudders underneath you, starting to mumble out his name. 

“I’m Aoy-” he starts, but you cut him off, something snapping inside of you. 

“Just stop. Here’s what’s going to happen. I am going to tie you up and leave you in the well. You are going to call for help. I need you to scream.” You growl, the look in your eyes deadly, hinting as to what would happen if he didn’t follow your directions. 

However, the man nods vigorously, and you do exactly what you told him, using some tough rope you found in the shed to bind his wrists and feet together once positioning his limbs in a way that would be painful if he tried to adjust or move them, using a cloth to gag him temporarily for the journey to the well outside of the Kirishima’s home. 

How ironic is it, that this all started from that same well, and now it could all end there too?

You heft the man into your back, the size difference unconcerning to you given that you were strong, and he weighed absolutely nothing. How did this shrimp even manage to be eligible for the military in the first place?

 You hear a crash outside, flinching and realizing that you probably weren’t the only one fighting these Inimican spies. And you most definitely were the only one with enough fighting experience in this village. 

You had to work fast.

Deciding to leave your home through the backdoor, you slip out quietly, breathing in relief when you don’t see any black clad assailants there waiting to ambush you. 

Making your way to the Kirishima’s along a secluded path you knew by heart, you make your way to the well, wrapping your fingers around the rope and tugging it experimentally to see if it would support the blonde man’s weight. It seemed sturdy enough and so you hefted his figure onto the side of the well, making sure he held onto the rope tightly enough, and you removed the cloth covering his mouth. 

You don’t give him a chance to say anything, holding the front of his shirt with a relentless grip as you stare at him in his eyes, wide with fear. 

“If you don’t do what you’re told, I’ll end you here and now.” you whisper, no malice in your tone, and yet that makes the words even more chilling. 

The man nods frantically, releasing him and watching him descend down the well at a rapid pace, hearing a thud and a crunch one he makes it to the bottom, making you wince a little bi.t At least he wasn’t dead, the echoing cry he let out when he reached the floor was a dead giveaway. 

You hear him start screaming, his voice strained and raspy from the amount of sobbing he’d done, and the echoes of the well amplify the pitiful sound, the desperation definitely evident.

Doing all of this felt wrong, but honestly, you didn’t really care at the moment. Your village was in danger. 

You heard some footsteps approaching in the distance, putting your plan in action and slipping into the shadows of the Kirishima home. 

“Aoyama!” a deep male voice calls out. “Is that you?” 

From where you were, you could see a shock of white hair and electric blue eyes. And his face… it was mottled almost, littered with so many scars the lower half of his face looked purple.

“L-Lieutenant Dabi! D-Down here!” the man who you realize is called Aoyama croaks out, ruining your wish for the blonde to remain anonymous, but that didn’t deter you.

You had a mission.

Hearing three more pairs of footsteps, you see three figures to match, including a man with skin so oily it looked like verdant scales, a blonde man with haunted blue eyes, and a wild haired brunette with amber eyes. 

“Wait-  is he in the well?” the blonde snickers, only for his amused expression to be taken over by a stricken expression of grief. “Oh shit, is he okay?!”

It was an odd display of events, but you chose not to comment on it as the one called Dabi commanded his men.

“Shuichi, use your sword to cut the rope- then if we dangle it low enough we can pull him out.” the white haired man says, the oily skinned man nodding in assent and drawing his sword out of its sheath. 

You remembered during your time in the military about the weapons the Inimicans preferred, the most common being that of a katana. You, on the other hand, used something else. The Belloran army had a tendency to use weapons with more power, valuing strength over speed, something you picked up on once seeing the heavier swords in their arsenal, and of course, your fight with Bakugou.

But when you trained, you trained for speed, choosing to fight with dual swords instead. Dual swords, you learned, paired with your fighting style, allowed you to become the best of both worlds, both refined and strategic which aligned with Inimican fight styles which still being able to channel heavy amounts of strength and power into every strike, making you a formidable opponent for both Inimcans and Bellorans alike. 

The one called Shuichi approached the well, cutting the rope and making sure Aoyama was securely holding on before he started hoisting it. 

Now was your chance. Over the past few months of training, your father recommended carrying metal stars with sharp serrated edges. He said it would help practice your aim as well as your concentration as to where you enforced your strength. Ever since then you started to train with them, and they were always on your person or in a place easily accessed no matter where you were.

Thank the gods for that, you think, taking one of the stars from the folds of your clothes, and holding it in between your index and middle finger. 

You take a deep breath, angling the star ever so slightly and positioning it. And then…

Release.

The star slices through the air like it’s nothing, pure strength over powering wind resistance as it slices through the rope of the well in twine. 

You hear Aoyama’s agonized screams as he falls again, shallow breaths echoing and reverberating through the well, hauntingly.

But you can’t let the horror overtake you, knowing that in the midst of battle, feelings are to be processed later. Even so, you can’t help but wonder if this is what Katsuki meant- true strength of a warrior meant coming to terms with the conflicts outside of you but inside as well. 

Stop it, you chide yourself, taking advantage of the group’s momentary distraction and running quickly, tackling the closest man next to you, the one with amber eyes. 

Your dual swords each target vital areas of the man’s body, your forearm tightening around his neck as one sword is grazing his artery on his neck and the over ever so slightly hovers over his abdomen, ready to plunge into his torso. 

It’s a threat. And one that they know you’re capable of, given by the steely glint in your eye.

Two of the men spring to action, forgetting about Aoyama, the one called Shuichi drawing his blade and the blond getting into a fighting stance, as the brunette lays deathly still in your arms, one wrong move and he’s dead. 

However, the first man, Dabi, seems unfazed. He gives you a lazy smirk, and waves his hand nonchalantly. 

“At ease, you two. I don’t feel like killing her just yet…” he drawls, brimming with overconfidence. “She reminds me of a little poppy, no? A pretty flower of death. And yet so easily crushed the moment a boot iss brought down upon it.”

You feel rage boil up inside you. How pompous is this asshole to think he could defeat you so easily?!

Then again, you thought about your fight with Bakugou. You were by no means weak, and you reassured yourself that. But even so, Bakugou managed to win. Would you lose against Dabi too?

And this time…you wouldn’t be spared as you would in a tualia. This is war. 

“Let me strike you a deal, poppy.” he says, stepping closer. “Let’s battle it out, me against you. My men won’t interfere. If you win, I will escort my troops out of your village.”

“If I win,” his grin turns deadly. “Well let’s hope that doesn’t happen, huh poppy?”

You narrow your eyes, tightening your grip on your swords. You could almost smell the power radiating off of this man, but you knew that if you didn’t take his offer, your village wouldn't stand a chance.

You exhale slowly, glaring at the cocky man in front of you. 

“Deal.”

***

Maybe, you realized, his overconfidence was earned. 

You weren’t a stranger to fighting losing battles. From your tualia with Bakugou to dumb arguments with your siblings, you always kept going, even though the outcome was going to be the same. 

In front of you, stood Dabi, the man in question had waved his men away to scout the village for more rope to rescue Aoyama with. 

And in the Lieutenants hand, there was a sphere. 

Magic, in your world, was a rare commodity - and even rarer was one who could manage to wield it. Common forms of magic called yose were sold in the richer markets, and if you could find them, they were used more like a collectors item, a mark of status if you had one, which showed just how rare it was in the first place. Most, when attempting to use magic, had their physical forms decay from the inside because their mortal forms couldn’t handle power used by celestial beings.

However, there was a gene that resided in a total of nine families in the world, (one for each god) who was blessed to be able to wield said power.

And you had the misfortune to encounter one of them.

The sphere in Dabi’s hand was bright blue, and yet it didn’t resemble that of water or ice, instead the sphere consisted solely of cerulean flames - you could feel the temperature drop as soon as it materialized. 

When you were young, Chiyo told you stories about each of the families, each of high status and a standing in any family was extremely coveted globally. 

Fire… Dabi was a Todoroki. 

Shit.

You were, inadvertently, fucked. 

“This is what it’s like to play with fire, poppy.” he grins, a manic look taking over his face. 

You grimace, lowering yourself into a fighting stance.

This was going to hurt. 

With a yell, you charge at Dabi’s unmoving form, your feet moving you, faster, quicker, allowing you to flow with the wind. 

Horror washes over you as flames engulf his hand, and then his arms, blue flames licking his skin but he doesn’t show any sign of being in pain.

You desperately slash at his neck and chest, bringing your arms to form an X before slashing outwards. But your blades do nothing, as Dabi mimics the same X and thrusts his arms forwards, shooting flames out in every direction. 

“Ah fuck!” you grit, tears pricking your eyes as flames burn through your flame, creating scalding burns in their wake.

Your swords clatter to the ground, your hands in so much pain you couldn’t feel them. Where the fuck did he find magic so powerful?! No market sold enough yose to generate enough power like that…

“Aw, down already?” Dabi pouts, “I thought you’d burn a little slower.”

You muster up the iciest glare you could. “F-Fuck you, you damn sadist.” You spit, venom dripping from your tone. 

Dabi only smiles. “C’mon poppy, that’s no way to talk. We’re having so much fun, afterall.”

You wanted to kill him. 

Your whole body protested, screaming in pain, bloodied fingers, grasping the hilt of your nearby sword.

You run at him again, flames again searing your skin, but you keep running, pain now shooting up your leg as you lunge at Dabi, an amused expression on his face as you keep running, plunging your sword into his shoulder.

This clearly takes him by surprise, wondering where your spontaneous bout of strength came from as blood drips down his torso, a bright red that was accentuated from the coming sunrise, rosy rays peaking out of the horizon. 

Dabi’s smirk goes away, replaced with an impassive expression as he wraps his hand around your neck, squeezing slightly as he pulls the sword out of his shoulder with his other hand.

Suddenly, the world spins, lack of blood, oxygen, mixed with overwhelming pain and fatigue made it hard to keep your eyes open. 

Shit!

The panic sets it, fuck were you going to die, actually die?!

The last thing you smell is the scent of melting flesh waft into the air as everything goes black.

The last this you see are those sickening electric blue eyes, and wide bloodied grin.

The last thing you hear is Ejiro’s voice yelling “Y/N?!”

Wait.

Ejiro?!

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[missmaniac25]

Ateez Scenarios - Realising you're in love with your best friend Part 2 (the confession)

Behold! The sequel that nobody asked for but I had to write anyways!

Each member’s part is between 600 - 700 words This does link to part 1 but I’m sure you could read this as a stand alone if your heart so chooses I don't think there's any warnings but let me know if I missed anything

~

Hongjoong:

Another night, another successful snack run. You and Hongjoong tumble back into his studio as the clock reaches two in the morning. Like normal, you’re both a little giggly and a little bit chaotic as you flop onto the couch whilst Hongjoong takes his chair.

“Throw me a chocolate milk, please,” you ask before Hongjoong dives, almost literally, into the packet before tossing one your way.

However, you were not ready for it when he tosses it your way and it lands on your head with a thunk before falling off of you and onto the floor.

“Ow.” Is all you manage to get out before your best friend is kneeling in front of you, still giggling, but clearly concerned.

“Are you ok? I really didn’t mean to throw it so hard.”

It must be the lack of sleep that makes you decide to play it up.

“Oh, the pain!” You pretend to be wounded. “Oh, the betrayal! How could you do this to me?”

Dramatically you place the back of your hand on your forehead like a damsel in distress and it causes your best friend to laugh even more.

“Oh no!” He mimics your tone. “I’ve fatally injured the most important person in my life! How will I ever earn their trust again!”

You go still at his words. Does he even know what he just said? Does he know how much it tugs at your heart strings when he says things like that?

“I’m the most important person in your life?” You dare to query, knowing that he might retract his words now that he was being confronted with them.

A faint blush appears over his nose and along his cheeks. At first you think you’re imagining it.

“Um, yeah.” It’s as though he’s suddenly become sober, the giggle disappearing from his voice. “You are. I thought you knew that.”

The two of you watch each other in silence for a short while.

“Does your head actually hurt?” He finally asks, bringing you back to reality.

“I mean a little.” You playfully lift your eyes as if you’ll be able to see anything and you succeed in making Hongjoong giggle again. “Do I have a boo-boo?”

He swats your hand away and takes a closer look.

“There’s a bit of a red mark, oh my soul, I’m so sorry!”

You muse that it’s really ok, you should have been paying more attention aways.

“Wait, I know how to make it feel better,” Hongjoong tells you, shuffling closer.

You’re about to ask what he means when he gently places a kiss on your head, assumedly where the chocolate milk had hit you. It lasts only a second but it feels as though every moment you’d ever shared with your best friend is captured in that second, in that action.

“Do you feel better?” He asks as he moves away.

You shake your head.

“Do you need another one?”

You nod.

There’s a smile on his face as Hongjoong kisses your head again, a little longer this time and your eyes flutter closed. You almost tell him not to stop when he pulls away.

“And now?” Hongjoong is still smiling, almost as if he knows where this is leading.

“Still not better,” you say, opening your eyes. “But I think I know what will help me.”

There’s no pull back from Hongjoong as you gently guide him down. There’s still a gap between the two of you. But after a breath, you feel his lips against yours and the rest of the world is forgotten.

You don’t know how long the kiss lasts for. All you know is that you’d give anything to have him kiss you like that from now until forever.

Little do you know, Hongjoong feels exactly the same way.

~

Seonghwa:

“Ok, ok, enough!” You plead with the people around you. “Damn, I’m crying I’m laughing so much!”

An evening out with your friends had been exactly what you’d needed to relieve yourself of the stress you’d been feeling. The banter dies down for only a short time before someone else strikes up a new conversation and the commotion begins again.

Next to you, your best friend sits uncharacteristically quietly. He’s barely spoken the whole evening, opting rather to sip continually from his glass. You don’t think you’ve even seen him smile.

After wiping away your tears, you affectionately nudge your shoulder against his. Seonghwa peers over at you and his expression softens ever so slightly.

“Hey, everything alright?” You ask, trying to be as subtle as you can be.

“Hmm,” he hums and you know he’s lying to you.

You nudge him a second time and this time he rolls his eyes.

“Come on, what’s up? I want to help you feel better.”

Seonghwa gazes around the table, almost willing all of the other people to go away. His look isn’t lost on you.

As discretely as you can manage, you take your best friend’s hand and stand up, pulling him away from all the noise and outside of the restaurant. Seonghwa doesn’t hesitate to go with you, trusting you completely.

“Alright.” You place yourself in front of him. “What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing is bothering me.”

“Hwa…”

He sighs, his eyes darting to look at anything but you.

“It’s just…” He pauses and then finally gets the courage to look at you. “I didn’t intend for everyone else to join us tonight. I actually wanted it to just be you and me.”

To say you’re confused is an understatement.

“But I thought that you invited them?”

Seonghwa rubs his hands overs his face with a groan.

“They invited themselves. I mentioned to them that I thought about going out this evening with you and suddenly everyone was tagging along. I didn’t know how to say no to them or to ask you out alone.”

You try to find a middle ground; a positive for him to focus on.

“Is it really so bad to be with them though? We haven’t seen them in a while and you and I hang out together a lot just us.” 

“But I…”

He stops himself short. There’s an emotion in his eyes that you can’t quite place. Is it desperation? Is it longing?

Gingerly, he holds one hand out to you. You take it without thinking twice – you’d trust him with your life.

“I like spending time with just you,” Seonghwa admits. “I like when it’s only you and me laughing until it hurts. I want to be the one making you laugh like that, not someone else.”

The world stops spinning. The only thing you can focus on is Seonghwa – the beautiful features of his face, the feel of his fingers brushing yours.

“I was going to tell you something else tonight but I wanted it to only be us,” he continues. “I wanted it to be… romantic.”

You react before you can think.

“Should we leave then?”

You’ve clearly taken Seonghwa by surprise but you’ve also done the same to yourself.

“I mean, if you still want to… spend time with… just me.”

Your confidence quickly dwindles with every word you say and you wish that the ground would open up and swallow you whole.

“Yes.” Seonghwa finally smiles for the first time that evening and it makes you smile too. “I’d love that.”

You both waste no time going back inside, gathering your goods and quickly paying for your part of the meal.

You don’t know where Seonghwa is planning on taking you or what’s about to happen. All you know is that you can’t wait to spend time with him and only him.

~

Yunho:

‘Damn it why didn’t I wear something warmer?’

You internally curse your circumstances as you stand outside with the rest of your friends. The little fire that they’d made to roast marshmallows was not big enough to give you any kind of substantial heat. To be fair to yourself, it’d been sunny when you’d left your home that afternoon, but as the night had closed in, the temperature had taken a dip.

“You ok?”

You turn to find Yeosang. He glances at how you’re rubbing your hands over your bare arms over and over.

“I mean I’m a little cold,” you confess but try not to cause a fuss. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

He tuts quietly before shrugging his jacket off and holding it out to you. Adamantly, you try to refuse him but he’s insistent and eventually you end up with the garment hanging over your shoulders. And you have to admit, you feel much better already.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” Yeosang smiles before turning back to the conversation happening around you.

It’s only a little while later when you feel someone poke you in the ribs. You don’t even have to turn around to know who it is.

“What was that for?”

Yunho appears next to you, a whisper of a laugh on his lips. The flames of the fire reflect in his eyes and you catch yourself before he notices you staring.

“Just wanted to get your attention.”

Ever since a few weeks ago, you’ve had to be mindful of how you act and talk around your best friend – any small slip up could reveal your new feelings for him. But when says things that like, it makes it so much harder.

Luckily, he doesn’t give you too much time to dwell on that as he notices your attire.

“Is this your jacket?” He asks you, brows furrowed. “I don’t recognise it.”

“Oh, it’s not mine. It’s Yeosang’s.” You tell him honestly, thinking nothing of it. “I was cold and he gave it to me.”

You miss the way Yunho’s jaw goes stiff; the burning in his eyes, not from the fire in front of you.

“Why didn’t you ask me for my hoodie?”

You almost laugh until you finally register his expression and how tense he is next to you. As you’re about to tell him that he just wasn’t around, he grabs your hand and leads you away from the group. When it’s just the two of you, Yunho quickly removes his own hoodie, telling you to put it on instead.

“Yunho, what are you doing?” It’s your turn to be confused. This is weird and you don’t know what to make of it.

“I don’t want you wearing anyone else’s clothes. Please just wear my hoodie.”

“I still don’t understand what…”

“I’m in love with you!”

The confession hangs in the air. It’s a glass bubble that if it’s not caught, it’ll shatter. You want to tell someone to pinch you just to make sure that this isn’t a dream.

“I’m in love with you.” Yunho’s hand clamps his hoodie tightly. “And seeing you wear someone else’s clothes is making me go insane, ok?”

It’s incredible how hastily you pull Yeosang’s jacket off of your shoulders and reach out for Yunho. He beats you too it though and gently pulls the hoodie over your head, just like he did the day you realised you liked him more than a friend. You let him help you put it on properly and he takes his time pulling it down over your torso.

“I suppose I should go give this back to Yeosang.” You say, fiddling with the jacket you now hold.

Yunho smiles mischievously and tugs at his hoodie on you, gently forcing you closer to him.

“Or we could make him wait a little longer.”

You feel his hands on your sides and you finally get the confidence to look him in the eye. There’s that feeling of butterflies in your stomach.

“Yeah,” you agree, finally giving in to everything you’ve wanted to do for so long now. “He can wait. I’ve waited long enough for you.”

~

Yeosang:

Your anxiety was almost palpable as you knocked on the door to Yeosang’s apartment. There was already music playing just loud enough to be heard outside and you could hear the voices of some of your friends. Normally, you wouldn’t be so nervous about going to your best friend’s birthday party. Hell, under normal circumstances you would’ve been the first one there. But there were two things that had held you back.

The gift. You’d taken a gamble getting this but you’d banked on the fact that he would get the inside joke.

Your feelings for Yeosang. They’d morphed into ‘more than friends’ and you were certain that he could tell and that the vibes were off between you now.

Jongho was the one to finally open the door and let you inside, calling into the apartment so that everyone knew you were here. No room to hide now.

Throughout most of the evening, you’d managed to avoid Yeosang until it came time to open the presents, and you found yourself seated next to him on the couch.

‘He’s so beautiful,’ you mused to yourself before shaking yourself back to reality.

The tension between in your body grew as Yeosang opened every gift until only yours remained.

“Hmm, I wonder what this is?” Yeosang said carefully pulling the paper away from the small box.

You held your breath.

It was a candle. A custom scented candle that you’d had made using a combination of his favourite smells. Something sweet, fresh and a little bit earthy.

Yeosang was quick to pull the candle out and sniff it, a smile on his face.

“I love you.” He looked over. “Thank you.”

No one else seemed to have heard it and at first you weren’t sure you had either. The way Yeosang casually went back to telling everyone about the joke of the candles, you debated whether he had realised what he’d said at all.

The party goes by in a blur after that and when you come to your senses again, you realise that everyone has now left expect for you and the two roommates. Yunho and Yeosang look around their apartment and you quickly jump up to help them start the cleaning up process. They try to dissuade you but you’d do anything to stop from thinking about what happened earlier. With your help, the job is finished in no time at all and Yunho declares that he’s going to bed, leaving you and Yeosang alone.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” he tells you.

“Did you mean what you said?”

“Right now or…”

For a moment you contemplate abandoning this conversation and just going home never knowing. But you can’t.

“When you opened my gift, you said that you love me.”

Yeosang opens and closes his mouth, forehead creased as he thinks back.

“But I do love you,” he says, again far too casually for your liking. “You’re my best…”

“But do you just love me as a best friend or do you love me love me?”

You didn’t mean to cut him off. You draw back with a soft apology.

“Look, I’ve been a little in my own head about us, our relationship,” you confess. “I just need to know how you feel about me.”

The two of you stare at each other. There’s muffled noise from up the passage but neither of you register it until Yunho’s head pops into the doorway.

“I don’t mean to eavesdrop,” he says, causing you and Yeosang to whip your gazes to him. “I just thought I’d let you know that he does feel the same way, he’s just really bad at expressing it.”

With a curt nod, Yunho disappears again, leaving you to deal with that bomb shell.

When you look back at Yeosang, you can see red creeping up his neck and ears.

“That’s not how I wanted to tell you,” he says in a whisper before raising his voice again. “But I do love you. I love you love you.”

You’re quick to wrap your arms around him and breath him in. He smells like clean linen.

“Good. Cause I think I love you love you too.”

~

San:

It’s Friday evening and it is finally time to open another letter. This had become your routine ever since San had gifted you the shoebox filled with white envelopes just over half a year ago. It lived on your coffee table in your lounge which is where you now found yourself after a long week, ready to be comforted by the words of your best friend. Although he wasn’t away at the moment but he was still busy – this would have to do.

‘Week 23’

Hastily you open the envelope and pull out the letter.

‘To my best friend

I can’t believe this is already the 23rd letter I’ve written. Kind of wild. It’s also very late right now so I apologise for the choice I’m about to make. I probably won’t remember that I wrote this tomorrow when I wake up but I feel like I have to tell you. We’ve known each other for a long time now, you’re my best friend. I’d even say you’re closer than a best friend. You’ve seen parts of me that no one else ever has and I wouldn’t trust anyone else with the secrets I’ve told you. So, I’m trusting you with one more.

I don’t want to just be your best friend. I want us to be more. I’ve had feelings for you for a while now but for the sake of our friendship, I’ve kept them to myself. But I can’t do it any longer. If you don’t feel the same way, you can throw this letter away and never mention it again. But if by some small miracle you do, come find me. I’ll be waiting for you.

All my love

San.’

The thumping of your heart in your chest is the only thing keeping you from thinking that this is a dream. The implications of his words swim around your head. He gave you this almost six months ago. He wrote the letters before then. How long has San felt about you the way you feel about him?

You almost fall over yourself as you get up and gather your belongings. You can’t wait a second longer. You’re going to find him.

You knock rapidly on the door to the apartment. Theres a sense of urgency that drives you forward buzzing through your body; what if he’s changed his mind since then?

It’s Mingi who opens the door.

“Hey, what are you…?

“Is he here?” You don’t even let him finish.

“We just got home, what do you… ok never mind.”

Mingi lets you shove him aside and move into their home. With determination you make your way to San’s room, knocking again and letting yourself in when no one objects. Time stands still when you see him. San smiles at you, saying something about how he’d hug you but he’s been working out and he doesn’t want to gross you out.

“Do you still…” You stop yourself short, looking down at the letter. “You said…”

There’s a confused look on your best friend’s face when you look at him again so you hold the paper out to him. San takes it from you and realisation washes over him as he reads it.

“Do you still feel that way?” You finally manage to ask, dreading what his answer could be. All of this could end up being a huge mistake.

His eyes meet yours, expression sombre.

“You didn’t throw it away.” He states calmly.

“No.” You shake your head a little. “I came to find you.”

Slowly, a smile breaks out onto San’s face and you find yourself wrapped in his arms. Finally, the sense of urgency that had been driving you till now dissipates.

It’s an unspoken agreement that things are different now but you don’t care. Best friends, more than best friends. As long as you’re close to San, that’s all that matters.

~

Mingi:

To be honest, it’s been a little weird between the two of you since that night. Normally, Mingi would message you every day, even if it was something stupid like a meme or a joke. The past few days there’s been nothing but radio silence from him. At first you tried to contact him but when you got no reply, you lost a bit of hope and decided that it wasn’t worth hurting yourself even more.

The thought of reaching out to one of your mutual friends had come to mind; even that seemed like crossing a line now.

It’s been almost a week since you’d last spoken to Mingi. The entire world feels out of order as you try to busy yourself with anything other than the thought of him, the thought of losing him. Despite the fact that it’s getting late into the night, your apartment feels like a cage so you pull your shoes on and head out. There’s no destination in mind. You just know that you have to move.

You’re stopped dead in your tracks though when you get to the street only to find a familiar car parked out front and your best friend sitting in the driver’s seat. Mingi runs his hands through his hair and you reason to guess that he’s been doing that for a while, judging by the way it stands up in various directions.

A little voice in the back of your head tells you to run back inside and avoid him forever. A debate begins inside of yourself but before you can make a decision, Mingi’s noticed you standing and staring intently at him. You meet each other’s eye. He reaches over and opens the passenger side door without a word and you need no further invitation to climb in.

For a short while, he just drives. It seems that without having to tell him, he’s understood what you had wanted to do before you’d run into him.

“I’m sorry.” You break the silence. Truthfully, you don’t know exactly what you’re apologising for but it feels like the right thing to say.

“No, I’m sorry.” Mingi says. “I’ve been a jackass.”

“Yeah, you kind of have.” There’s a bubbling of anger inside of you. “You just… disappeared on me, Mingi!”

Timidly, he looks over at you. It’s clear he’s trying to figure out how to explain himself but the words just aren’t coming out. The car rolls to a stop as he pulls off the road and switches off the engine.

“Look.” You shift in your seat so that you can face him before you continue. “If what I said made you feel uncomfortable then I’m sorry. We can just pretend that it never happened and go back to… before that happened.”

On top of the anger, desperation is starting to build. You can’t lose Mingi over this; not over your mistake.

“I can’t forget about it,” Mingi all but whispers. “How do you forget the person you have a crush on saying that you’re perfect?”

It takes a second for it register in your mind.

“You’ve been avoiding me because you like me?”

Mingi seems almost ashamed as he looks down, hands twisting over the steering wheel as he grips it.

“I panicked.” He confesses. “I didn’t think that you meant it like… that. I still don’t think it.”

If you hadn’t been hindered by the space of the car, you’d have thrown your arms around him and held onto him tightly. Instead, you reach for the hand that’s closest to you, pulling it off of the steering wheel and into your lap. The action is enough to get his eyes to lift and look at you.

“Mingi. I did mean it like that. I thought you were avoiding me because you didn’t like me back.”

“I’m sorry.” He says, now clasping your hands in his.

“You don’t have to apologise.” In a moment of bravery, you raise his hand and press a kiss to his knuckles. “You’re perfect just the way you are.”

~

Wooyoung:

You wait impatiently on the pavement. He was meant to be here eight minutes ago, not that you’re keeping track of the time or anything, but with no word from him you’re tempted to just abandon the ride and go back into your building and get lost in a series. But as you peer down at your phone for the hundredth time, the roar of an engine catches your ear.

You’d know the sound of Wooyoung’s motorbike even in your sleep.

He screeches to a halt in front of you, the kickstand hitting the ground without even turning the engine off and takes your helmet off of his arm and practically shoves it onto your head. He then hastily ushers you onto the seat behind him before taking off again once your arms are loosely around his waist. Honestly, you don’t know what the big rush is for. There’s nowhere you two need to be; this was just meant to be a casual afternoon ride to unwind after one hell of a week.

Tap tap.

Your grip on Wooyoung’s body tightens just before he accelerates. If you could get away with doing this with him any other time you definitely would. Despite how affectionate your best friend was, you never pushed yourself onto him, so these stolen moments while he rode you to who knows where were everything.

It’s five minutes later when Wooyoung pulls up next to an open park.

“Come on, we have to go!” He all but shoves you off of his bike, grabbing your hand after you’ve taken your helmets off and pulling you forward.

“Wooyoung, what is the rush?” You say exasperated but you let him haul you along.

The other people around you are a blur as he forges on, leading you down path after path.

“I don’t want us to miss the sunset!”

You want to shout at him. All this hullabaloo for a sunset!?

Once he’s dragged you to the top of a small hill and parked you on a bench do you let loose.

“Wooyoung! You infuriate me!”

At first, he looks a little sheepish but it turns into a naughty smile after only a second.

“Maybe but you still love me.”

His words shut you up immediately.

Wooyoung places himself next to you, slinging an arm over your shoulder. You shuffle a little closer to him but not enough to make any difference.

“Are you going to tell me what’s so important about the sunset now or should I just guess?” You query.

“Just cause…” He trials off but you feel him tap your shoulder twice.

“Why do you do that?” You gaze up at him. “Tap me even when we’re not riding.”

It’s Wooyoung’s turn to shuffle in his seat, unintentionally edging himself closer to you.

“It’s how I let you know that I love you.”

Once again, you’re left stunned at how casually he says those words.

“Do you mean it?” You dare to ask, your gaze focused on him and only him.

The sun in front of you continues its slow descent.

“Always.” Wooyoung looks at you, his eyes glancing down at your lips ever so quickly.

Despite what he says, there’s still a part of you that thinks he doesn’t mean it. He’s only saying it because he’s your friend and there’s nothing more to read into.

You feel something on your shoulder.

Tap tap.

‘Love you.’

Your breath catches in your throat as you think back on all the times your best friend has done that simple action. All the times he’s confessed and you just didn’t know.

“I love you too,” you tell him.

Wooyoung smiles, pulling you closer to him and finally pressing his lips to yours. Even while you kiss, there it is again.

Tap tap.

You’ll never think of it the same way again.

~

Jongho:

“Did you switch off all the lights in the lounge?” You ask as you put away your clothes.

Jongho appears from the bathroom, toothbrush in his mouth still, mumbling words you don’t understand.

“I have no idea what you’re trying to say.”

Jongho, holds up one finger telling you to wait before he disappears again.

As far as sleepovers with your best friend went, this was not out of the ordinary. A little bit of chaos, a little bit of humour. A whole lot of unresolved feelings from your side.

You’d accepted your fate of only being Jongho’s friend and nothing more, and opted to never let him know how you really feel about him.

Jongho returns again to tell you that he did switch off all the lights, he’s not an idiot.

“Could’ve fooled me,” you laugh before a pillow is abruptly thrown your way.

It’s harmless fun but damn it does it break your heat to imagine him doing this with anyone else.

You return the pillow to where it belongs on the bed, slip under the covers and snuggle in for the night, ignoring those feelings welling inside of your chest.

“Do we have plans for the morning?” Jongho asks as he too climbs into the bed.

“Nope. Not unless you want to do something.”

“The only thing I want to do is sleep in.”

You hum in agreement already looking forward to it.

The room goes dark and you feel Jongho settle down next to you; you facing him, his back to you. The proximity is something you’ve been acutely aware of since that cold, rainy morning. It hadn’t happened again that he’d pulled you that close to him and you weren’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

“Stop thinking so loudly,” Jongho says, turning over to face you even though he can’t see you.

“I’m not thinking loudly.” Your attempt to deflect doesn’t work on your best friend.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

A part truth is better than nothing, you decide.

“There’s this boy that I like. But I don’t think he wants to be anything more than friends. And everything we do together, I overthink it wondering if he’d rather be doing it with someone else.”

You wonder if you’ve said too much – if you’ve given the game away. Then you feel an arm over your torso and Jongho pulls you closer to him, holding you against him. You don’t dare to breath.

“Whoever he is, he’s an idiot if he doesn’t want to be with you,” he says. “I’d always pick you.”

You’re dead certain that he can feel how fast your heart is beating. A thousand thoughts begin to fly through your head all at once.

How can he just say something like that? Does he know that it’s him? Will I ever be able to get over him now?

“You’re thinking too loudly again.” He sighs as he soothingly rubs his hand over your back. “Talk to me.”

“Do you promise not to get mad?”

“Why would I get mad?”

“Because you might not want to be my friend anymore if I tell you.”

His movements cease for just a moment and then he promises.

With a deep inhale, you tell him the truth.

“It’s you.”

You wait for him to turn you down. To get up and leave. For the end to begin.

“Thank goodness,” Jongho utters quietly and at first, you’re not sure that you heard him properly. “I was about to get mad that it was someone else.”

“You… you like me?” You ask, still wondering if that is what he really meant with everything he was saying.

His body vibrates as he laughs quietly.

“Do I need to make it clearer? I’m infatuated with you.” Jongho places a kiss to the top of your head. “I meant it when I said that I’d always pick you.”

He snuggles you as close as he can and you finally let your mind go quiet.

[pocket-watcher]

Okay but what if someone made a deal with a hypnosis demon/entity/whatever to get better sleep, but he started invading her waking life too :)

OKAY but what if this was a great idea and I love your beautiful mind Anon. What if.

It had been a month since Ashley had started sleeping better.

It was bliss.

From 11pm to 7am she sank into the deepest sleep, awaking refreshed and energised always. She’d finally been able to catch up with her chores. She’d brought her coffee intake from 3 cups a day to 1. And she had enough energy to actually go for a run every morning.

And all she’d had to do was sell her soul.

Okay, that sounds bad. But it wasn’t as weird as it sounds!

After countless sleepless nights Ashley had found herself scrolling endlessly through forum after forum of Life Hacks to cure her insomnia.

Medication? Nope. Exercising until exhaustion? Nope. A nice warm glass of milk? Nada.

But then, she found a link.

This sketchy website full of summoning spells and incantations and potions.

But, honestly, she had almost fallen asleep at the wheel a couple hours ago so she literally had no choice.

Ashley gathered the candles, dimmed the lights, and began reciting the spell.

That’s when everything went black.

She woke up 7am the next day, and despite being hunched over on the floor surrounded by half-burnt candles she had never felt better!

And every night since she had done the same. 11pm rolls around and she simply drops into sleep.

The first few times had been a bit precarious, but once she’d realised the timing of it all she made sure she was safely in bed by 10:59.

It was weird though, she kept having the same dream about the same man.

But she thought nothing of it.

Until she bumped into him inside a coffee shop.

“Woah, sorry about that! Are you okay?” He said, a voice like heaven.

She stuttered and stumbled and nodded, scrambling for a seat. Face flushed.

It was him. She knew it was him. But she second guessed herself anyway.

“Is this seat taken?” He said, already setting his espresso down.

Blankly, she shook her head. What was she supposed to say? I’ve been dreaming about you for the last month, are you a sleep demon?

“Thanks. Are you okay? You look flushed.” He smiled.

Something about his smile just made her feel a lot more comfortable.

“Yeah, sorry, lost in thought.” She chuckled and sipped her coffee.

“Oh?” He mused.

She stifled a yawn, taking another sip of her coffee and willing for the caffeine to kick in.

“Yeah… You just look familiar.”

“Do I? I’m afraid you don’t. I’d remember a pretty face like that.”

She blushed.

It was so easy to talk to this guy. She lazily swished her remaining coffee around in her cup.

She yawned once more.

“Late night?”

Her eyes were heavy as she raised them towards him.

“No, actually… sorry. I don’t know why I’m -“

He placed his hand on hers.

“Maybe you just need to relax and take a nap, Hm?”

The warm tones of his voice and his gentle touch drew her in. So familiar.

It was like the comfort of staying under the covers on a winter morning.

She allowed herself to stand as he guided her upwards.

“Yeah… Maybe I need a nap.” She parroted back to him, voice hollow and her stare glassy.

The coffee had long gone cold now. Time had passed without her even realising as she allowed the stranger to lead her out of the coffee shop.

But she didn’t mind.

She had wanted sleep more than anything, after all.

[johnwickb1tsch]

A Walk in the Clouds/Don John crossover outline Part 1 ~

Paul Sutton x fem!Reader x Don John triangle

I don't know if I'll ever have the time to properly write this out, so have an outline. 😆 My huge thanks to @scarlettspectra for helping me get this ball rolling 😘😘😘 your ideas are awesome as ever!! And my girl gang @treedaddymcpuffpuff and @sweetwolfcupcake of course!! And and...I did it. I changed Don John to the proper don Juan here, because it was driving me effing crazy so...that's what that's about. 🤣 Warnings: hmm horny teenagers, fear of pregnancy? Parental death. Period correct misogynism.

-Your family has served the Aragons at Las Nubes vineyard for as long as anyone can remember. They like to say they’re descended from royalty, by way of a son conceived by the King outside the sheets, exiled to the New World, but the truth is you all came to California with the de Anza expedition in 1776 with nothing but the clothes on your backs, some rootstock, and hope for the future. 

-Once upon a time, your families’ land adjoined each other, but years and years ago your ancestors lost everything in a fire, and the Aragóns took you in. They’ve never let you forget it. 

-Especially not don Juan, the handsome-as-the-Devil head of the family, who has always had his eye on you. He thinks he owns you, like he owns the hundreds of broadacres that surround the compound, the vines and the farm animals and the houses where the workers live too. This is his kingdom, and he rules with exacting expectations. 

-You were a bright young thing, and you were allowed to sit in with Juan and his siblings with their tutors. Your father complained it would give you ideas of wanting to see the world outside of Las Nubes, but your mother insists you be allowed to go. One of nine children, all girls, you had watched your mother literally kill herself having babies and laboring for the Aragóns. She died in childbirth when you were on the cusp of adolescence. Your father does his best and you love him dearly, but he was never the same.

-You’ll always have a soft spot for don Juan, and maybe once you even fancied yourself in love with him. He is what he is, proud, conniving, and cocksure–but you happen to know he has a softer side. The pool is shallow in the insular world of the vineyard, and perhaps its inevitable that you have a teenage fling. On the night of the harvest, a celebration that always borders on a pagan rite when it goes well, he took your virginity in the dark amidst the vines. He could never marry you, of course. That was already arranged, to some lady of good family in Mexico, years in the future. But as your affair goes on and you learn about each other’s bodies, the way curious young people do, he tells you he intends to keep you as his mistress. You’d never want for anything, and you’d bear his children, and work for his household, the way women were meant to in your traditional world that seemed still stuck in the 1800s. As you lay there in his arms, the thought made you want to die. 

-You were so relieved when you bled, a couple of weeks later. That was when you decided you were going to strike out on your own. You find work in San Francisco, first as a maid, then as a typist with a publishing house. You’ve always loved books and you have an affinity for letters. You meet lots of interesting people, although you find even the men of the “counter” culture just want a woman to suck their dicks and wash their socks. Everything is the same, even when it’s different… Maybe you’ll write a book about that someday. 

-You get a letter from Las Nubes. Your father is dying, and you know you have to make the trip back to the vineyard one last time. You slipped out under the cover of darkness when you left, afraid don Juan might physically prevent you from leaving. You're a little afraid to go back–you don’t really know what he’ll do. His temper is a thing of legend at the vineyard, and you know he surely perceived your leaving as a betrayal, even if you were just pursuing your own life choices.

-A seemingly God sent solution practically falls into your lap, when you meet Sgt Paul Sutton, a newly discharged soldier just home from the War. He is almost too sweet to be true. On the road with a briefcase full of chocolates he doesn’t really seem interested in, his marriage to his wife he barely knew freshly annulled, he doesn’t know what he’ll do next. After he saves you from two creeps on the bus (and getting kicked off himself) you propose he accompanies you back to Las Nubes posing as your husband. Surely don Juan won’t pester a married woman?

-yeah right!

-Outwardly, don Juan welcomes you home, but you can tell for the sharp way those obsidian eyes weigh you, that he’s planning something. He so graciously gives the two of you a room in the hacienda, a gift for the newlyweds. You know it’s just so he can more easily keep you under his thumb. Honorable to his toes, Paul insists on sleeping on the floor. When you tease him he tells you bluntly that he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands to himself, in bed with you. You bite your tongue, wanting to tell him that maybe you wouldn’t mind that so much. 

-Your father is bedridden and slowly fading. You do your best to take turns with your siblings caring for him and keeping him comfortable. He likes it when you read to him. Sometimes you even read him things that you wrote, and he smiles and nods without opening his eyes. You don’t tell him you’re the author, but deep down you wonder if maybe he knows anyway. It’s the most validation you’ve ever received from him, since your mother died. 

-At first your family isn’t sure what to make of Paul, appalled that you would marry a gringo, an outsider from your Californio community, without the fanfare or blessing of the Church. But he’s a hard worker, and has a heart of gold, and they start to warm up to him. You find it very amusing, when the old men get Paul drunk and try to teach him Spanish love songs for you (while eating the last of his chocolate). It becomes a game, trying to teach Paul how to pronounce words. He’s hopeless, and you find it endlessly endearing. 

-He’s so sweet, and handsome, and true. Of course, you start to fall in love with Paul, even though you don’t really want to. He told you he wants a house and a family and a dog. Wholesome things he absolutely earned, after surviving the Hell of the Pacific front. You’re not sure what you want, exactly, except to be free. As time goes on, you’re beginning to understand that maybe true freedom comes at the price of being alone–you’re not sure how to reconcile that. You start to have more sympathy for the choices of the adults around you, understanding the “trap” you always thought they fell into without thought, as simply the way life marches on. That maybe domestic life doesn’t have to be slavery, if you’re laboring out of love rather than just what’s expected of you because of your gender. 

-Or maybe, your nubile young brain is just poisoned by lust and hormones. You don’t trust your own judgment.

TBC...

[fanofstuff02]

Okay can I share a date idea for them?

What about as a one year anniversary, Lucifer opens a portal and sneaks him and Adam up into heaven to fly in the sky at night.

They go to a section of heaven that is just cloud that no one uses.

Awwwww :3

To make this even cuter..

Imagine Lucifer trying to take special permission from Heaven with so, so many paperwork involved -He is normally not allowed to be in Heaven- and tolerating every shit they make him go through because he wants Adam to be truly happy on their anniversary.

Sera literally tries everything she can do to stop this but Lucifer has his right to demand this for him and his lover.

Adam: I thought you weren’t allowed in Heaven?

Lucifer: Let’s say I’ve been working alot for this, love.

Adam: How-

Lucifer: What comes to your mind?

Adam: Uhhh… 3 months?

Lucifer: Triple it, minus one.

Adam: What?

Adam realizes this was why Lucifer was super tired during last 8 months, he was always saying he was too busy and rushing to meetings.

Lucifer: Hey, it could’ve been worse! We could’ve had an angel watching our every move or Sera always interrupting but we can have all this to our-

Adam kisses his forehead.

Lucifer: …selves.

My babies

[harriertail]

Omen of the Stars reread + a lot of thoughts

The Fourth Apprentice

The cover is actually the best cover in the series are you kidding me? Its so pretty. The yellow blue and dark green r so nice

Why does the TC/ShC stream drying up affect the lake water level and not the RiverClan... river? Does the Moonpool stream still run???

Every mention of Squirrel and Leaf sitting together "so close they were like kits just out the nursery" is an actual STAB in the chest. They go thru so much :((((

A flash flood seems to take out the beaver den (or its just poorly worded?) so what was the point of the journey...

Dovewings personality is snappier than i think pple give her credit for, I kinda enjoy her

Tigerheart literally does not interact with her on the mission lmao what is he on about 'I'm gonna miss you'

Jayfeather missing Lionblaze is act so painful :(

Fading Echoes

So much of the opening of these books is just recounting previous events and character arcs omg this goes for all WC books.

Hollyleaf :(

Blossompaw's siblings joke that she moons over Toadstep. Idk why fucking Thornclaw becomes her mate later on then :/

What is Tigerheart doing on the border ? he doesnt explain it? I actually thought that he was already meeting Dovepaw secretly but then hes not like what is he doing...?

Dovepaw being worried for the other Clans + her thoughts about having this power should put her above the Clan rules could be so interesting. the series back-and-forths over Lionblaze (we must protect ThunderClan) and Dovepaw (we must protect all the Clans) even though Lionblaze gets annoyed at Dovepaw for using her powers to look after ThunderClan???

The whole "being obsessed with Prophecy and what it means" is probs a part of Jay's character (as he baso became a med cat to fulfil his destiny) but it also feels like a gross misunderstanding of what a Prophecy is. All the "the dark forest is rising. This might be what the Three is meant for" is like putting the horse before the cart- a prophecy is meant to describe a situation and hint at the character/means to solve it; but PO3/OoTS has the characters/means to solve, but no conflict :/ its a bit backwards.

I like the mentions of Firestar + Sandstorm going on night hunts etc.

Blossompaw/fall's a cunt lol. Shes kinda fun but shes not nice at all especially to Ivypool.

I love Littlecloud. I love when the med cats share ideas and discuss things 10/10 makes my day everytime

The pacing is actually... not good. Ive defo always been on thr camp of "too many povs and too few chapters ruins the book" but wow FE really shows it.

So much of Doves characterisation so far is about agency and not wanting to be special and have Firestar/Lion/Jay talk to her. I wish this was not forgotten about in later Super Editions.... kittypetdovewing2k24

this battle is crazy tho. I wish more of the DF plot was about stirring up trouble between the Clans and specific troublemakers in each Clan rather than the later nebelous 'dark warriors invade the forest' battle. Ill get to that one day

Night Whispers

Picking right back up in the battle...

and again just recounting the last books events. hollyleaf death/disappearance explanation count: 3

Kinda love how many times shes mentioned. From Lionblaze avoiding the tunnel she ran into to Jayfeather finding the fur that Leafpool hid.... cute

Okay i actuallt love ShadowClan discussing the battle + tactics + training and then the chapter immediately after the TC camp doesnt mention it at all and Ivypaw is like "why arent we discussing the battle? Just because we won doesn't mean we will again!!" interesting character moments + a nice look at differences between the Clans

Ivypaw and dovepaw fighting over tigerheart????? they fight so much but then always wanna be together like jfc.

Dove n tiger have negative chemistry like it just jumps right into "no boundaries can keep us apart". I get shes using him as an escape from TC/prophecy bullshit but like.... rlly? I wish it was just like expanded on. Tbh i wish every chapter had like just two extra pages to actually delve into things a bit better.

Lmaoo lionblaze cinderheart leafpool dovepaw patrol this is so fucking funny brambleclaw u get one point for this

Tigerheart break up scene count: 1

Flametail POV. Interesting but... why? Bad things r coming we know... what was his point narratively? It was cool tho. I liked seeing ShadowClan.

Every single book Dovepaw has a character die/get really hurt and is haunted by their screams. Rippletail, Longtail/Briarpaw, and later on its Antpelt... jesus christ girlie has it SO rough

The ivypaw "nernernenerner im better than you im being trained by tigerstar" to "oh fuck hes actually a bad guy i cant believe the terroristic maniac lied to me" is so rapid shes so funny/stupid

The imagery in this book is kinda crazy. Fire and ice cats and drowning in darkness visions. Very fun.

Sign of the Moon

So the med cats are divided and split up and StarClan does not trust any other Clan cat- but when in StarClan, Barkface and Flametail are hanging out? Crookedstar offers to share prey with Yellowfang? But StarClan is super fractured rn each Clan must stand alone. Okay

Antpelt nooooooooooooooo

Idk what the mountain prophecy actually means like. Firestar was always going to lead ThunderClan into battle.... what is he gonna do that's different...

Rock: i was the first Stoneteller Five chapters later Half Moon becomes the first Stoneteller. This is egregious

Swoop death. that's the fourth death Dovewing is going to be haunted by

The Forgotten Warrior

all the hints to Hollyleaf still... its a nice throughline... the yarrow and tansy and Molepaw/Cherrypaw scenes... shes my fave. sometimes the foreshadowing feels like it could be just Jayfeather coping that she's 'defo still out there' but TFW ties it up well. especially when you get surprised by Sol coming back and its like 'oh they were convinced she was defo still out there :(' and then she's actually back!!!

also the title??? is banger. the Forgotten Warrior, with Leafpool on the OG cover??? wow. espec as its constantly brought up that Leafpool was the medicine cat but no one sees her as a warrior really.... TBH all these titles are just as good as the TPB titles in terms of meaning/how good they are.

Another fox? okay.

SOL.... okay

tunnel adventures part 3.

All this like.. Bumeblstripeing is just kinda naff. Dovewing is clearly tryna force herself into liking him. But then she's also going on about how Tigerheart used her??? NGL i do really wanna see like.. why she changes her mind in AVOS

Brambleclaw lying to protect Hollyleaf is actually like. GOD that hurts. especially when you consider Bramblestar's Storm and how much he misses her. thats his favourite

the cinderheart shit is so stupid my jaw is actually on the floor. what you do mean you've been in love with a cat you shouldn't have. is cinderheart having cinderpelt's feelings for fucking firestar and that's why she doesn't want to be with lionblaze. also they have negative chemistry they literally are CONSTANTLY having issues.

oh my god i swear the 'Sol is secretly working with WindClan' was brought up chapters ago and we are only now dealing with it okay. anyway hollyleaf moment.

its kinda weird we dont get any like. scenes of the siblings just being siblings... they only discuss prophecy/plot shit and dont get to be siblings again - which i guess fits with the whole 'everything has changed' but god it'd be so god to just have them doing like. normal cat stuff - especially when so much of this series has had Jayfeather missing her and Lionblaze

i love Dustpelt and Brackenfur building shit... its so good

Dawnpelt murder accusations. okay.... i can't wait for Flametail to suddenly be argumentative again next book

the battle we've been building to all book is one chapter. cool. Sol runs off again and it's the end of the book. cool.

[inthethickofbleeding]

Thoughts on Bridgerton S3

I'M JUST RANTING OKAY I've only seen part 2 once and these are just my thoughts and feelings I am gonna throw here and delete later when I probably change my mind after rewatching?? I just gotta rant😭

Penelope was so gracious and understanding and forgiving and I felt she deserved, in many moments, to be rightfully more upset, more vindictive, more fiercely witty and proud. Though I do LOVE all the things getting resolved and solved and brought to light and happy endings (I actually do love it), the journey there for me was missing a healthy and (imo) realistic dose of female rage. Just for the dramaaa come on. All the other drama going on here and Penelope is 'grateful for your counsel?' bfr. I'll show you grateful for your counsel by hating on it! She can show everyone her heart AND her teeth. She is more than capable and I thought that her character was reduced too much in the last four episodes. Penelope I want you to have everything, including your full range of emotion and humor and wit. Drink more w/ Madame Delacroix okay?? And with Lady Danbury.

I feel like my husbandColin was weirdly sidelined? I'm actually quite grateful for Part1 Colin, because I haven't landed anywhere yet with Part2 Colin. I knew he was jealous, I knew he was always going to forgive her...and we all knew he loved her....so the conflict/tension between them was not as interesting- for me! Just for meee. And stupidly drawn out. FOR MEEEEE. He had taken so many 'gallant' steps in his relationship with Penelope so when their wedding day and night and subsequent honeymoon days arrived and he was stuck in that attitude I was so unmoved. Don't play with me, Colin. Go worship your wife.

I JUST WANTED ANOTHER PURE VIOLET MOMENT! OF ANY KIND! Like before/about her dance with Marcus come oonnn! This is Violet! Please for the love. Also give me a convo with her and Penelope! Just one real one?? Damn. Her resolution with Francesca was alright? I guess. I do love that she isn't perfect with all of her kids, esp her daughters. But I feel they planted a lot of stuff for her as a mother and as a woman wanting to 'tend to her garden' you know? And it fell awkwardly for me. My favorite Bridgerton forever though.

HATE HATE HATE that Colin went to Cressida's house to make things worse trope. Seen it before. Didn't like it then and I don't like it now. AND he was forgiven so quickly. Absolutely not. DO NOT GO INTO ROOMS ALONE WITH ANYONE ANYMORE COLIN BRIDGERTON UNLESS IT IS UR WIFE PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME SLASH MY SCREEN. Go home to your wife and fix it there before you try to be all heroic outside of it okay. I will shave your head. I think I need Daphne.

Dear Eloise, you don't know what it is to be a friend, to have a friend, or even to lose a friend. Maybe I'm interpreting it wrong, maybe I don't care idk. But we start the show humanizing Cressida, bully since season 1 episode 1, THROUGH Eloise. BUT WHEN IT CAME TIME FOR THE FRIENDSHIP TO MEAN SOMETHING TO EITHER OF THEM Eloise willfully gave up, walked away, ran to the comfort of her privilege with her family and way-too-understanding friend. HOW DID WE CHAMPION SO MANY WOMEN ONLY TO ABANDON THIS THING W/ Cressida at the end as she was literally sent away alone.

Lady Danbury complaints similar to Violet. She is usually a more prominent player, so when she wasn't this season, well, I missed her and wanted anything more about her. But! Love her all the same.

HOW DARE THEY throw Kanthony back and forth all weirdy like that. Kate is here, just let us have Kate. And her lil loving husband. Come oooonnn. Three babies at the end and none of them Kate's😭 And Violet was overwhelmed and they didn't get to have another moment?? A lot of off-screen moments are told to us and we just get to believe whoever says whatever. Every actor here has shown they have skills for show-don't-tell productions! All those beautiful eyes! I just am feeling upset about the random use of this gorgeous couple. EVEN ANTHONY, Viscount and eldest brother of them all just walks away at one point when Colin is obviously needing more of him. Whatever.

Why why why did we have an original song PLUS an orchestral cover of it for both to be so unused??? Tori Kelly's song is so wedding-coded and so romantic and earnest. But it didn't make an appearance for Polin at all. Not at their wedding, not in their home, not in the carriage, not anywhere...

Maybe unpopular opinion but I hated "Yellow" being the wedding song. First see the point above and then please please just remember how much Penelope did to distance herself from that fucking color and the horrible memories of it. NOW! IF COLIN HAD MENTIONED IT SOME WAY OR WHATEVER THEN SUUUURRREEE keep the song. HOWEVER. EVEN THE WEDDING WAS NOT YELLOW, HER FAMILY WASN'T IN YELLOW, WE DIDN'T TALK ABOUT IT AT ALL WHY IS IT THE FUCKING WEDDING SONG WHEN THERE ARE MANY OTHER OPTIONNNNSSSSS WHYYYYY (idc why, I just hated it, even if I did cry).

Benedict has been cute and boring for far too long and that did not change for me in this season. TWO BRIDGERTONS with queer representation in an already huge season with so many storylines going on, I wish we could've celebrated it better. Amongst the thousands of other things that were being celebrated, Benedict has still been separated from them in weird ways.

Not a big point, just an interesting one. But where did Debling go? He just effed off to the wilderness? We spent a lot of time with him (and Cressida) in the first four eps.....and then he was gone.....okay.

Charlotte, I love you. You should know that first. But man you love to crash a party, and a wedding, and I just feel like you should've at least killed someone by now with all these theatrics. Even for Charlotte, I felt she was strangely incorporated into this last half of the season. She and Penelope are technically equals in many many ways- BUT WE NEVER GOT TO SEE THAT WIT AND BANTER PLAY OUT MORE WHYYYY

All in all. It's just my rantings. I was absolutely in love with the first four episodes. There was something so fairytale about it and it was so romantic. So, yes, I was disappointed in part 2 on the initial watch, despite the many things I loved about it. There was a lot going on and, sadly, most did not land for me. Yet.

It's a good show, I still love the show. I will be watching the show. Give me more of the show lol.

[holybibly]

Bunnies, please spend a little time with this message, because there are things I want to talk to you about.

First of all, I'm fine. I'm so sorry for worrying so many people yesterday. Sorry if I haven't replied to your DMs yet, there are a lot of them and I need time to reply to all the bunnies.

Please do not worry. Your experiences are not worth me (don't even think about arguing about it), nothing in your life can be more important than you and your family.

Now let's talk about serious matters. I did a lot of thinking last night and it was a hard night, I won't lie. I am a very sensitive person and most of the time I accumulate emotions until they just drown me. The last few weeks have been stressful for me with work and I haven't had much time to relax or get inspired, but when things finally started to pick up, this message was the last straw. It really hurt me.

I hope situations like this don't happen again

Now, I want to talk about comfort and other things on the blog.

1. Nicknames. For all the followers of my blog there is a special nickname "bunny". This is a special nickname associated with one of my works - Pretty Flushed. This is my first popular piece, it is a unique idea and this is what makes my blog my own. From the moment I posted this, it became natural to call my followers 'bunny', as everyone who asked me questions or wrote to me personally signed themselves as 'bunny'.

Now I want to ask you - are you comfortable with this nickname? Did you feel anxious or uncomfortable when I called you that? I don't want you to feel that way, so if it bothers you, let me know and I'll stop.

2. The question of trust. As I wrote earlier, unfortunately I cannot be sure whether I am communicating with minors or not.Because the issue of age deception is very acute.

Neither Tumblr, nor Wattpad, nor YouTube, nor even Gmail can verify your age on a reliable, documented basis when you create a personal account. The only way we can find out is if the user reports it to us. And this is where the question of trust comes in. Can I trust you? Should I keep doing this? These questions are constantly on my mind. It makes me anxious and panicky. But also, how can we live in a society where you are afraid every day? My blog is a safe place for adults and conscious people, but I can't guarantee that somewhere among my 2.8k followers there aren't underage teenagers. Because I just don't know who's telling me the truth and who's not.

If any of my bunnies find out about underage accounts, please let me know so that we can make the issue public.

There is also the issue of anonymity. You can call me shameless, but I am not ashamed of my desires or thoughts, you all literally live in my head, but I know that there are people who are not ready to talk publicly about their desires and dreams, here are also people who are simply afraid to do so because someone might find out and use it against them. We all have different lives and we all have different life and social circumstances, so I understand all the people who are not ready, who are afraid or who are ashamed of their thoughts and dreams.

I will not block the possibility to talk to me anonymously and I leave it up to you. You can also DM me with your request if you don't feel comfortable with me posting the answer for everyone to see.

3. Communication. Bunnies, communication is important to me; it's true. I always want to know how you feel, if you are comfortable, and what you think of my work and of me. But unfortunately, sometimes my questions remain unanswered, and I begin to doubt if everything is going well. There is no greater fear for me than that you do not feel comfortable with me.

I don't know why, but it seems to me that many people avoid communicating with me. Some people think I'm rude or abrupt, and I don't seem to fit in with the general happy atmosphere. I am most comfortable with my bunnies. I enjoy playing with them, flirting with them, or just talking to them, and I'm very lucky to have made great friends, but I still feel isolated in a way.

It's weird; people always tell me that they've heard of me or that I have some kind of bunny fandom of my own, but I'm nothing more than a normal person. I will never lie to you and try to be better than I am. I am who I am, and I have no intention of creating a false persona in order to be loved. If I'm not right for you, don't waste your time.

I always tell you that you can come to me with all the questions in the world. I will never refuse to help you. Communication is the key to success, don't you think? I know I can be intense, and the way I communicate on the blog is unique, but that is how I see this space—without templates, labels, bias, shaming, judgement, and other things. This is a place where you can be yourself.

So let's communicate more and get to know each other better to make our lives a little easier.

I may decide to add a few more things here later, but these are the issues that concern me most at the moment.

Also, in terms of updates, the planned update for this weekend for full-length work will be postponed until next week.

Unholy hours have been on the air since the weekend. 

I love and appreciate you very much, my bunnies, and I hope I have been able to share some of my thoughts with you. We will work on improving the atmosphere in our little naughty house.

[whamgram]

Your fic is killing me ITS KILLING ME. Please just let them kiss already I’m begging you. This slow burn hurts so good but I can’t take it anymore and I don’t think they can either. I’m going to explode like alastor if they don’t kiss soon.

But seriously under my skin is everything to me. I drop everything I’m doing to read it the second I get the notification. The writing is so good I’m in awe how much it feels like a season of the show. I love the way you write alastor. He’s goofy and charming like in the show but still has a threatening aura. His slow realization of his feelings for charlie is so believable too. As a demi person myself, I really love that it was a gradual thing and he wasn’t all of a sudden lusting after her. I love how the moments of attraction slowly intensified and each chapter he got bolder until he was literally crawling into her lap. Poor guy was desperate and he didn’t know what to do about it until the next chapter.

On that topic THAT scene from last chapter was so flipping hot. I love how you described alastor’s half made fantasies. He has a mental block because of his shame but also he’s never been interested in sex so he doesn’t even know what to imagine. And then he wants her so bad that he’s finally able to imagine something. Him clawing at the armrest and pretending it’s her boob was so hot gahhhhh.

Thank you thank youuuu please never abandon this fic I might die <3

I'm sorry. 😅 I promise there will be some payoff to the slow burn soon!

Thank you so much! ❤️ I love how Alastor is such a goofy guy while still having this underlying cunning and sadistic personality. And yesss, I wanted to sprinkle in the moments of attraction while he's working through his feelings for Charlie. Staring at her boobs, appreciating her smile, feeling a prickle on his neck, little things like that before he has a full body reaction and realizes he's sexually attractive to her. He starts craving physical contact with her so badly, I don't think he realizes half the time when he's all over her.

You're exactly right regarding the spicy scene! Previous to giving into his desires, Alastor very much had a mental block about his Charlie fantasies. Part of that was self-inflicted because he felt so much shame about having these thoughts/urges in the first place. And part of that was because he just straight up didn't know what to imagine. Not that he's totally clueless about sex, but a lack of experience and interest would mean that he doesn't really have a catalog of fantasies to pull from. But after all the close encounters that he and Charlie had that night - her squirming in his lap, him pinning her to the bed, etc. - that combined with his utter desperation gave him enough in the spank bank to imagine his fantasies to completion. 😈

And don't worry! There are no plans to abandon this fic. The Charlastor parasite has permanently fixated itself to my frontal lobe. ❤️‍🔥